Someday the 17th
by Loafer
Summary: Set three years from the series ending, this is my own version of a future that could be. Lassiet by the end, so don't dive in if you don't want to go that direction.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I was looking for new disclaimer wording and found a site which offered this one up: "If you choke to death on a hot dog, that is natural selection, and management is not responsible." Also, I stole these people from Steve Franks & Co.

 **Rating** : T

 **Summary** : So this story will take awhile to tell, but I promise I WILL finish it. Lassiet by the end. Inspired by the idea of the reunion movie, but before I knew the basic plot, I plotted out most of this tale, which is also set three years-ish from the end of the series and needless to say is nothing like whatever we're going to see in December. Also, it's Tuesday the 17th, which I know you know, and yes I'm telling the truth.

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 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

When he answered, it was with a crisp, "You are now bothering Chief Carlton Lassiter."

Juliet laughed. "Good. When I choose to bother a guy, I expect him to be the _top_ guy."

She could hear the smile with his next words. "O'Hara. It's been too long."

Six months since their last too-brief phone conversation; almost two years since their last meeting. Over three years since she'd left to work with Karen in San Francisco.

"Yes it has. But you, Chief Carlton Lassiter, are going to change that."

"Am I?" He was still amused.

"Yes, because you are about to tell me that you're going to the CopsWest Training & Expo in Palm Springs next week, and we're going to get to see each other there."

"I always said you were a sharp cookie. Yes, I'm going over on Sunday evening."

"When do you expect to arrive? Maybe we can have dinner."

"Ah..." he hesitated. "I don't know exactly. I have to take a side trip to Santa Maria first."

"Santa Maria?" That was an hour in the opposite direction.

"Long story. I'll tell you later. Let me text you when I get in and if it's not too late we can work something out. Or breakfast on Monday."

She heard the reserve in his tone and knew not to press just now. "Anyone else from the SBPD going?"

"I wish, but Brannigan will have to stay and hold down the fort. The city's been tough on the budget this year. I have to soak up all the training and pass it on when I get back home."

"Sounds aggravating. There'll be a few Frisco people there but no one I know well enough to be obligated to hang out with."

"Good," he said with satisfaction. "More O'Hara for me to annoy."

She laughed again, realizing again how much she'd missed him. "Okay then. Text me the minute you arrive, and the game is on."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet had been feeling a bit adrift for awhile. It started before she ended her relationship with Shawn—and it was hard to believe _that_ was over a year ago. She liked her work, but much as Carlton had confessed when he was named Chief that what he really wanted was to be her partner rather than work at the top alone, she'd learned the Frisco job wasn't perfect. Timely, necessary, educational, and certainly good for her resume, but not perfect.

San Francisco itself was unlike any other place, and in many ways she loved it... but Santa Barbara, despite her Miami roots, was the place she still thought of as _home_. And lately, she'd been feeling nothing less than homesick.

Shawn and Gus had opened up a detective agency, finding business a bit more prolific there with a metro population of nearly five million—about four and half million more than Santa Barbara County.

Juliet had privately let Karen Vick know Shawn wasn't psychic. It was one thing to protect him on smaller turf with bigger consequences, but she couldn't let him con Karen while she was starting her own 'next big adventure.' Karen had taken the news stoically, agreed she never heard it, and simply advised Shawn that the stakes were higher there, and besides, with access to a rather remarkable consultant of their own who already knew Frisco top to bottom—and wasn't hampered by being a fraud—she couldn't justify bringing in a newbie outsider.

(For a moment she relived—with a grin—the first meeting between their consultant and Shawn. The consultant refused to shake his hand, which wasn't unusual—but asked for a disinfectant wipe _anyway_. Shawn was offended, but Gus just nodded like it all made perfect sense to him.)

So Juliet learned the ins and outs of the job, missed 'home,' and for some time had been thinking about Carlton a lot more. Their communication was via text mostly, nothing much; they were both busy. He occasionally mentioned Marlowe but more often it was Lilly. He sent pictures of the little girl, now approaching her fourth birthday, and Juliet liked that she had her father's big blue eyes.

She missed those big blue eyes. She missed his entire cranky person. This training expo was going to be a great chance to reconnect with the man who'd been her unlikely best friend for so many years.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Her flight from Frisco to Palm Springs was uneventful and she checked into the hotel with luggage and sanity intact. Carlton would be driving in—she wondered about that side trip to Santa Maria—and he'd be in a foul mood because of traffic, because there was always traffic.

But even that made her smile, those memories of Carlton at the wheel alternately terrifying and exhilarating her.

There was a pre-registration room set up off the Grand lobby, so after she'd settled into her room—the Renaissance was quite posh, at the foot of the San Jacinto mountains—she went back downstairs to get that bit of housekeeping taken care of.

Shortly thereafter, her packet in hand, she turned back toward the door in time to see Carlton walk in.

Tall, lean, half-scowling and with those vivid blue eyes _almost_ distracting her from how tired he looked, he headed toward the table for the "L" group, not seeing her.

She was almost glad he _hadn't_ seen her, because she needed a moment. Why, she wasn't sure, but she felt so overwhelmingly pleased to see him—so suddenly consumed by an urge to hug him—that maybe it was best to hang back for a few seconds to let him take care of his own housekeeping.

But once he had his packet in hand, half-scowl still firmly in place, she put herself between him and the door. "Allow me to introduce—" she began, smiling.

However, the rest of the sentence was _oofed_ away when he wrapped his arms around her hard. "Juliet, dammit," he breathed against her hair, squeezing her and seemingly unaware she was squeezing him just as hard.

"Carlton," she managed, once he'd put her back a little and stood smiling down at her. "God, it's good to see you."

"A-freakin'-men. Come here." He hugged her again and then grasped her arm, but he wasn't pulling her; as one they made it back out to the grand lobby, scoring a grand sofa near a grand column and a grand fern and she really didn't care because she was so damned glad to see him. "I was going to text you as soon as I got back to my room."

"This is better. Element of surprise. How are you?" Before he could answer, she eyed him judiciously. "You look a bit worn out. How was the drive?"

"Never ask me how a drive was, Juliet." He grinned at her, and while she hadn't exactly _forgotten_ how his eyes sometimes seemed to be lit from within, it still startled her how very blue they were. "You flew in?"

"And boy are my arms tired," she joked, and he laughed like he'd never heard it before. "We have so much to catch up on. How's the family?"

"Lilly is a beautiful little demon," he said emphatically, "and it serves me right. Hey, you want to just find a place to eat here?"

"Sure. But I'd like to get this packet up to my room first so I don't lose it."

He agreed this was sensible, and as it turned out they were on the same floor, about ten rooms apart. They split up when they got there, but he knocked on her door again about three minutes later while she was fluffing her hair.

"The room-service prices aren't bad," he commented. "In case you—"

Immediately this seemed like a fantastic idea. "Yes, let's do that."

While Carlton perused the menu and read out what he thought she'd like, she went to open the balcony door, letting in the fading warmth of the early evening breeze. Staying in for quiet conversation with him sounded lovely, and this was the perfect setting.

He remembered she liked club sandwiches and used her room phone to order a pair, along with drinks, chips and dip.

Joining her on the balcony, he lowered his lean frame into one of the chairs and sighed. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Being willing to keep it simple. Life's been kind of complicated lately and I'll take all the moments of peace I can get."

Juliet turned from the rail and surveyed him. "You really do look tired, partner."

 _It felt too nice to call him that._

A faint smile curved his lips. His hair was a bit longer, more silver than black now, but he always looked marvelous when he smiled. "I am. You, on the other hand, are your usual glowing beauty. You don't seem to age, Juliet."

"'Glowing beauty' is awfully high praise." She said it lightly, taking the chair next to his but angling it to see him better, and marveling at how easily he seemed to be saying her name now. There was a little part of her which kind of missed the soothing bark of "O'Hara!" ... but "Juliet" sounded pretty good too.

Carlton shrugged. "Still accurate. How are you?"

"Aging daily." She smiled, getting comfortable in the chair. "I saw that eye-roll."

"Damn straight, because from where I sit, you're still just a baby."

Laughing, she patted his warm hand. "Well, I don't feel like one. And you're not fifty _yet_."

He looked at his watch. "It's coming up too fast, though. And thanks for pretty much admitting fifty is the end of the road."

"Carlton! I did not say that." She smacked his hand this time, but he only grinned. "You've still got it, is what I mean."

"Yeah? Well, where did I put it?"

"Oh, stop. Just tell me everything about the SBPD. I miss that place."

"Nothing to miss unless you like chaos."

"Chaos? In _your_ station? I doubt it. Besides, I hear Betsy Brannigan is all that and maybe _two_ bags of chips." She privately admitted, sometimes, under self-pressure, to being just a little _tiny_ bit jealous of her replacement. "How's McNab doing?"

"Surprisingly," he said, sounding wry, "Brannigan made good on her promise to build him into a detective from the ground up. He's not the fastest and he's not the sharpest, but he does good solid work. She is rightfully proud of her success."

"I keep trying to imagine him in plain clothes," she mused. "It's not working. So is it true? About the legend of Betsy Brannigan?"

Carlton chuckled. "I don't know about the legend. I'll say this: she's a great detective, but she's seriously flaky." His tone suggested he was understating it. "Makes for a somewhat… unsettled squad. McNab's the only one who seems to take in stride, but then he's a little flaky too."

"And Woody? Speaking of flakiness?"

He rubbed his temples. "Woody Strode. Dear God. That man is… I don't know what that man is. I'm just glad we can keep him mostly isolated down on the lower level. If more people knew exactly how… whackaloon he is, it wouldn't matter that he's so damn good at his job. Forget flaky; he's damn near burnt to a _crisp_."

She was delighted at his discomfiture. "It's nice to know some things haven't changed."

Eyeing her, he muttered something about how some things _should_ have changed. "What about you? Karen treating you right?"

"You know she is. She's been the easiest part of the job up there." But she sighed despite the truth of her words. "It's not home, though. I still miss Santa Barbara."

For a moment he was silent, and she wondered about the expression on his shadowed face.

"And Spencer?" he asked without emphasis.

She'd told him about their breakup shortly after it happened, in one of their too-infrequent phone calls. Carlton, who was after all still her _friend_ , hadn't made even one snarky remark, and after the call ended she cried with relief—mixed with regret that she'd doubted him.

"Do I miss him?" she clarified. "No, not like that. The relationship ended long before I called it off. Sometimes I miss his sense of humor, but truth is I know a lot of amusing people, so I'm okay. I told you he and Gus opened a new agency, right? They call it 'psych-ish' but don't make any claims beyond that."

"Good." He sounded satisfied.

"He told me he made you a DVD and admitted to... you know." It was still hard to say it out loud.

Carlton turned his blue gaze her way. "Yeah, he made me a DVD. But as fate would have it, when he was in the middle of a sentence which started out 'I'm not—', that DVD ejected itself from the laptop, snapped itself in half and dumped itself right in the trash."

She stared at him in wonderment, and when he smiled slowly, she started laughing. "You... you mellowed!"

"The hell I did," he said with an immediately and wonderfully familiar scowl. "I just couldn't afford to learn anything I'd have to _do_ something about."

"Same difference, Carlton Lassiter. Mellowed. Newly married, new baby, new chiefliness—mellowed!"

He smiled briefly, and looked out across the blue-green pool and swaying palms. "Hard to believe that was three years ago."

There was an edge to his tone, something she couldn't quite pinpoint.

But he glanced her way again. "Why didn't you get married?"

He'd never asked her before. She guessed she understood why. "You know the ring was stolen right after he proposed."

"Yeah, but that shouldn't have stopped you if it was what you both wanted." Again with the odd tone... and she guessed she understood that too. He'd never been a fan of the relationship but he'd supported her right to be happy in it.

"No, it shouldn't have." Juliet leaned back in the chair, surprised at how un-tense she was. "But the truth was, he didn't really want to get married. He thought he wanted to commit, and he thought he had to do it via marriage. I wanted him to commit too, but when the ring was stolen he lost his nerve, although he never admitted it. I thought it was enough that he'd moved up there to be with me. The wedding could wait, right?"

"But Guster was along for the ride." He was still watching her. "Like always."

"Like always. And old habits are so very hard to break when you don't really want to break them." She looked down at her hands, feeling a moment of sadness. "He said he wanted to save up for a new ring, and time passed. And while that time was passing, I figured out he wasn't the... hill I wanted to die on."

Carlton smiled. "Good girl."

"Took me too long, but up there in that fresh new setting, all our differences were magnified tenfold. My vision became clearer. And I have no regrets, either about the relationship or the end of it."

"Good girl," he said again, and seemed pleased for her. "You were always meant to be all right, Juliet."

This pleased _her_ , and in the ensuing seconds where she had to blink back an unexpected tear, there was a knock at the door.

"Dinner!" she exclaimed, and they both got up and went into the room proper.

Once admitted, a crisp and efficient attendant rolled in a cart and set up its cargo on the table in front of the room's sofa, offering to bring them anything else they might possibly desire, and when he'd performed his delivery admirably, he accepted graciously the tip Juliet—who was faster than Carlton—gave him and vanished back into the hall with the cart.

Settling on the sofa, with the patio door still open to let in the cooling breeze, Juliet started in on the chip and dips, teasing Carlton with a threat to eat them all herself.

But he was a formidable foe where good food was concerned, the chips were shared fair and square, and the sandwiches were exactly as good as they looked.

Memories of countless shared meals and coffees flashed through her head, and she felt warm and happy to be with him again.

He'd somehow snuck in an order for slices of warm apple pie, too. "They didn't have tiramisu on the menu," he confessed. "I looked twice."

" _Such_ a good man." She licked her fingertips, smiling at him.

Shrugging, he went to work on the last of his sandwich. "You're gullible, O'Hara. Since the day you were born."

"Liar."

"Yep." He grinned. "So you're really done with the Spencer phase of your life?"

"Oh, yes. It ended nearly a year ago, remember. I see them now and then—hard to give up old friendships in a big city—but it's just for fun. I told you—no regrets."

"I'm glad." He seemed reflective. "I guess I just figured he wouldn't give up easily. That he might hang around trying to wear you down."

"For a few weeks he did, but he finally let it go relatively gracefully." She knew Gus had helped with that. Gus, in their strange new location, was a little lost, and Shawn had chosen wisely to devote his energy to the one relationship he _really_ couldn't afford to lose—the one he had with his true other half.

Carlton nodded, and said no more about it.

"So what's up with the family? I love the photos of Lilly. She is gorgeous."

"Like I said, she's a beautiful demon. Tall too for her age."

"Is that your height or Marlowe's?"

"Combination, I guess. Have you see Iris Vick lately? Karen sent me a photo of her at Christmas and she's a carbon copy of her mom."

At first she was surprised to hear him ask about anyone else's children—but then again, he'd been there when Iris was born, so maybe she wasn't "just another kid." Plus, having a child of his own might have mellowed him even more. She was smiling privately at this thought when he nudged her.

"Hey. I see you silently mocking me."

"I am not," she said primly. "I'm just enjoying the softening of your hard outer shell." While he rolled his eyes, she went on, "Yes, I see Iris every few weeks. She's into dance now and starting to notice boys. Karen tells her ten is too young to date, but Iris isn't convinced."

"Dear God. Lilly's not even four and I'm already dreading the dating phase." He shuddered, and took a large swig of his beer.

Juliet laughed. "I'm sure you and Marlowe working together will corral her."

He crumpled up his napkin and leaned back against the cushions.

When he failed to respond to her remark, she said carefully, "And how is Marlowe?"

Carlton shrugged—a lot of that tonight, Juliet noted—and finally said, with his blue gaze on the bottle instead of her, "I'm not really in a position to give you an answer to that question."

Goosebumps rippled along her skin. "Um... should I drop it?"

He didn't answer right away, and her goosebumps intensified.

Finally he let out a heavy breath. "No. You know all my secrets anyway. It's exactly right for you to be the first person to hear this one."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

 **. . . . . .**

 **. . . . .**

" _You know all my secrets anyway. It's exactly right for you to be the first person to hear this one."_

She felt a flash of pride—and doubted it was _quite_ true—but focused immediately on his bearing. Somewhat defeated, somewhat unmoved… tired.

"Carlton, anything you choose to tell me is... well, I'm honored to have your trust. But I won't be offended if you don't want to talk about it."

"I know." He gave her a half-smile. "Understanding me and seeming to like me anyway is one of your mutant superpowers. Can we go back outside?"

"Sure—"

He'd already picked up their dessert plates, and she carried their drinks out behind him to set on the little wrought-iron table between the patio chairs. He went back inside for a moment to drape his jacket on the sofa, and came out again rolling his sleeves up over his lean forearms.

Juliet let him get settled next to her before she said, "For the record, I don't _seem_ to like you. I _do_ like you. You're very likable."

"And you're full of crap, O'Hara." His tone was dry. "I'm tolerable on a good day, and on so-so days, sometimes I don't _completely_ suck."

She only laughed at him. " _You're_ full of crap, Lassiter, because _I_ have good taste."

"You fell for Spencer," he retorted.

This made her laugh too. "Doesn't mean I don't have good taste."

He nodded, adding slyly, "Because even a stopped clock is right twice a day."

"Shut it, partner. You like to hide your good side, but once someone spots it, it's easy to see it every time."

"Says you." But there was no heat behind the words. He sipped his beer, again looking out across the blue-green pool, lit up fully now along with the twinkling lights strung along the palm trees.

She knew he was gathering himself to talk to her, but she wouldn't push him. He'd tell what he wanted to tell.

"Fifty-eight." A faint breeze stirred a tendril of hair at his temple.

"Fifty-eight?"

"We'll come back to that." Another sip of beer. "There's a lot of new city council members this year, and they're making life pretty hard."

"What's their deal?"

Carlton scratched his jaw. "Same as in a lot of other cities, I imagine. Police departments under scrutiny nationwide. We haven't had any incidents but they're ultra paranoid that we might. I'm having to justify every penny in the budget a dozen times over. The only reason I'm at this conference is that it was paid for before they got out their scalpels."

"We've taken some of that heat ourselves. Hard times everywhere."

"Yeah. Sucks. But they're not helping by doubting everything we do, especially since I'm short-staffed right now. Carvell retired two months ago, and right after that Silvers' wife got some fancy job up your way, and he decided he liked her enough to follow her there."

"Why, that _bastard_ ," she said with mock horror.

He grinned for a moment. "Anyway, they told me they wouldn't even consider letting me fill either position for six months. Got four months to go."

"But that's crazy. You can't be down two positions for that long. And no one should work that much overtime—"

He cut her off. "They're being stingy about overtime too. I have to request it in advance, which is nuts. I have the consultants' budget—which you'll be interested to know doesn't get used as much without Spencer mooching for cases all the time—and some discretionary funds, but I'm not allowed to spend any on overtime for _current_ employees."

"That's _crazy_ ," she repeated. "How are you supposed to, you know, enforce the law under those circumstances?"

"You tell me." He ran his hand through his hair roughly. "So that leaves me to pick up the slack, or at least some of it. I suspect Brannigan's working extra hours and not recording them, but the one time I asked her about it she threatened to burst into tears, so I told her _officially_ to stop, and then advised her to at least be stealthy." One last swig of beer and he set the bottle on the table. "How's the pie?"

Juliet took in another sweet, warm morsel. "You'll never know if I finish mine off and start in on yours."

Quickly claiming his plate, he had a bite—and seemed to appreciate it—before continuing his tale. "Anyway, I'm working a lot of twelve-hour days. It's actually nice to get back into detective work, and you know what? If I have to skip council meetings and delay filing their extra paperwork because I'm busy solving _crime_ , I think it's a fair tradeoff."

"Amen! But you have four more _months_ of this?"

"Yup, unless there's a sudden unexplained spike in criminal activity in each council member's neighborhood which might sway them. Not that such a thing would happen," he added with exaggerated innocence.

"Of course not. Unthinkable."

"Exactly. So." He cleared his throat. "Home life."

Juliet braced herself. "Marlowe's not taking your absence well."

"Let's go back to fifty-eight," he said instead. "Not much of a number, is it?"

She studied his profile, as he gazed out at the twinkling palms again. He seemed calm, for Carlton, which didn't mean much. Even tired, he still somehow seemed like he was made of coiled energy.

"The night I met Marlowe, we spent five minutes tops in the bar before she bailed. When I tracked her down, we spent another five minutes together before you showed up with Tom Cruise and Blacula."

Juliet had to smile at his wry tone. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be. Then we had a thirty-minute date which you _also_ interrupted," he said pointedly, but without anger, "and then driving to her house and waiting while you searched it probably took another thirty minutes."

She was afraid she knew where this was going.

"I got to visit her for an hour a week, always with a guard present, except for the weeks she was in solitary. I count 57 hours, plus the hour and ten minutes before her arrest, that we spent together before she was released." He glanced at her, unsmiling. "After that it was all giddiness, exacerbated by that nutjob Ursula Gibbs trying to get back at me, and instead of reporting Ursula to her supervisor, I decided the 'smart' solution was to get married. _Married_ , Juliet. To a woman I'd spent 58 frickin' hours with."

She stared at him, mesmerized.

He let out another heavy sigh. "Idiot."

"No," she protested. "Not an idiot."

Yet it didn't feel right to say _you were in love_.

He shrugged. "Thing is, I wish I thought having someone tell me I was an idiot _then_ would have helped. It wouldn't have helped. We were on fire. Stupid-ass _idiot_ fire."

"Don't..." She trailed off. "You don't get to _not_ be human."

 _And people used to call him Robot Lassiter_ , a memory which still angered her.

"Yeah, I know. Damn me. So we got married fast, she got pregnant fast, and suddenly two people whose courtship essentially worked out to a week and a half had to learn... hell, _everything_ about each other. Every damned thing that matters, anyway." He set his pie plate down and went to the patio railing, his hands clenching the metal too hard for a few seconds.

 _Oh Carlton_. She wished she could hug him.

"Which is separate from trying to be parents." He rubbed his face, showing again his abiding exhaustion. "Marlowe's a good woman."

"She is. You're a good _man_."

He faced her now, his manner intent. "She's a good woman. She's nice and she's beautiful and she's been good to me and she's worked hard her whole life. She's a great mom. But I..." He sighed. "I'm an ass, because Lilly's the one I miss. Not Marlowe."

"You... _miss_ her? Lilly?"

"Marlowe moved out. Filed for divorce. She's staying with a friend in Santa Maria."

The words were heavy, clear and laden with regret.

Juliet felt her heart twinging for him. No… aching. And this explained the side trip before he could get to Palm Springs.

"It was three months ago, so I can't even blame it on the hours I've had to keep."

"Oh my God, Carlton, I'm so sorry." Her eyes were burning but this was _not_ the time to go misty.

He returned to his chair, seeming inexpressibly weary. "I see Lilly on weekends. I work as long as I can on weekdays so I can have the weekends free for her. But it's killing me, not seeing her every day."

The sadness in his voice made her ache anew for him. "Are you... I mean... are you talking to Marlowe? Is this about needing time to get to know each other?"

"No, because for once I can honestly say a relationship failure isn't all my fault."

"Hold up there," she said, instantly irritated. "From what I hear, Victoria was at least sixty percent responsible for what happened in your marriage. Maybe seventy if you count her cranky-ass father."

Carlton actually laughed at that. "Thanks. I won't argue the point. Thing is, Marlowe pretty much spent her whole life taking care of other people. Her brother's illness took up a lot of her time. Those four roommates of hers—she was like their mom. Then she lands in prison and between the regimented structure of each day and her built-in need to be everyone's protector, she had no peace there either, unless you consider time in solitary to be peaceful."

Picking up his plate, he finished off the pie, but Juliet knew he wasn't done with the telling.

"I guess I made a lot of promises about taking care of her. I guess that sounded good to someone who'd been in her situation all those years. And I tried to deliver on those promises, but everything happened so damned fast—including the whole Trout debacle, which ripped a piece out of my hide in more ways than one. Hell, it was a carnival ride that first year. We just never had _time_ to figure out we weren't suited for each other."

He sounded reflective, not bitter. Like a man who'd given all this some serious thought—like a detective with decades of experience at figuring out other people but maybe not used to figuring out _himself_ , let alone the woman who shared his home.

As much as he resisted psychotherapy, she thought, it was fascinating to hear him lay out with precision all the elements which comprised the collapse of his marriage.

When he was younger—when he still held Victoria in thrall—he could not have managed this level of self-analysis. She was proud of him, but this was probably not the time to say so.

"So I don't think there would have been any point to counseling. I think Marlowe... no, I _know_ Marlowe wants real time on her own."

"But... but she's got Lilly. Moms don't _get_ time on their own."

"She says the Santa Maria thing is temporary, that she's lining up a friend to get an apartment with back in Santa Barbara, and we'll share custody. She also says what she really wants is to take off for a year and just go do her own thing, and if that's true, Lilly will be with me." His tone was one of relief, mixed with grim satisfaction. "It's sucking the life out of me, Juliet. I miss that little girl every damned day."

Again she wanted to hug him hard; this time she settled for reaching over and covering his hand with hers. "I know. How's she doing with this?"

He surprised her by interlinking their fingers, and she took it as a gift of trust, making her heart swell a little. "She's confused. We don't fight in front of her—we never really fought at all—and we do a lot of telling her we love her."

"And you're definitely divorcing?"

Carlton squeezed her hand and let her go. "Yeah. It's okay. Neither one of us wants to try to live the lie. Lilly'll be better off in the long run, if we're very careful in the short run."

She resisted the urge to reclaim his hand. "Have you been able to talk to anyone else about this?" At his raised eyebrows, she added, "I know you're... not a fan of personal therapy, but you have tried it before, and you've admitted it's helpful."

"I've admitted that to _you_ ," he clarified. "As for talking to anyone, that'd also be you. You're the designated BFF, y'know?"

Juliet couldn't help but smile at his wry tone, and now had to resist reclaiming his hand—as well as going misty—even more.

"If anyone's figured anything out, it'd be my neighbors. I guess someone could have seen the divorce petition in the paper, but no one's asked, and you know me; I'm not exactly the gut-spilling kind."

"Yeah, I know you." _Hell with it_ —she took his hand again, long enough to squeeze it hard. Carlton closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch, and she willed him to feel better, at least a little, for a little while.

After a few moments—with those blue eyes still closed—he said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

When she started to protest, he cut her off.

"I don't mean in the 'you deserve to know' sense. I mean... I probably did need an outlet a lot sooner." Now he looked at her, expressionless. "That's the point of having a BFF, right?"

Juliet smiled, knowing that as hard as it was for him to make personal admissions, those about their friendship were somehow harder. It spoke to his assumption of rejection, and she hated that his early life experiences had scarred him.

"Kinda," she said, still smiling. "But we make our own rules in matters of the heart. You're telling me now, and I just wish there was something I could do for you."

"You're doing it." He let her go and took the beer bottle instead, but it was empty. "Is there a soda machine around here?"

"Probably. Shall we go for a walk to find out?"

In response, he rose, stretching a little. "Yeah, let's do that. Better yet, let's check out that bar I spotted. What's it called? Rocks?"

A drink suddenly sounded like nirvana.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

They stacked their dinner dishes on the tray, and after she collected her handbag, they strolled down to find the lounge.

Red-lit, or amber maybe, it was about a third full, probably not bad for a Sunday night. He bought her a glass of wine and himself a Scotch, and they settled into couple of chairs separated by a glossy wood table, a little away from the others.

Juliet was lovely—she was always lovely—in this light, and he was very glad to be with her despite the dark clouds which never seemed to completely retreat from his personal horizon.

It didn't surprise him at all that he'd told her everything in one fell swoop. She was always the one he could tell damned near anything to. In an ideal world, Marlowe should have taken on that role, but it turned out Marlowe wasn't the answer to all his questions.

"It doesn't seem real, you know." His voice was low, but he knew she heard him.

"You mean this turn of events in your life?"

"This turn of the last three or four _years_. Meeting her, marrying her—you leaving and getting engaged to Spencer—me making Chief and finding out it wasn't what I wanted at all—then Lilly, and now... sitting here with you. No Marlowe. No Spencer. Not enough Lilly. Let's drink to that," he finished dryly, and lifted his glass.

She met the toast. "But on the other hand—stop smirking, you know there's always another hand—you understand yourself better than you did, say, ten years ago. You know this thing with Marlowe isn't a thing you did _wrong_. You know Lilly is a thing you did _right_. You know I'm... honestly, happier and better off without the stress of Shawn in my life. There really is a lot of good here."

He gave her a skeptical look. "Tell me more."

Juliet grinned at him. "I'll tell you plenty, partner. I always could talk your ear off."

He sang softly, "Nobody does it better..." and ducked the mock slap she aimed at him. "Yeah, but you always said the right things."

"Didn't always get through."

"More got through than I admitted."

"And you regretted every time you didn't listen." When he looked up, quizzical, she said only—and smugly—"Ursula Gibbs."

"Oh hell, O'Hara, it was one—no, okay. You're right. If I'd listened to you about her, she wouldn't have had a reason to go power-mad on me, and Marlowe and I wouldn't have gotten married in such a rush, and I—"

Now she was horrified. "Stop! That's not what I meant! You are not allowed to regret anything which led to Lilly being here and making you the proudest father around."

Immediately sheepish, he nodded and leaned back in his eat. "Okay, fair enough. I just hope we don't screw her up with this."

"Carlton. Many children of divorced parents turn out just fine. You love her, Marlowe loves her, the two of you are going to show her what it is to be reasonable adults—oh stop shaking your head, you _can_ be reasonable and you know it—and this is going to work out."

He shook his head anyway. "You sure about that?"

"Yes I am. Everything _will_ work out." She twirled her glass slowly. "Eventually."

Carlton smirked. "That's what I thought."

"How soon will Marlowe come back to Santa Barbara?"

"Sometime in the next month."

She sipped her drink, apparently thinking about this. "But with your schedule, how will you be able to manage even shared custody? Not to be pessimistic, but until you can get the city council to let you fill those open positions, you're still spread pretty thin."

"Believe me, I've thought of that." He felt his shoulders tensing, and knew his tone was grim. "I've already decided on a couple of things. One, I will leave work every day by five-thirty. Period. If I'm going to be a father at all, I have to be there for her. Two, if this means our backlog of cases grows, too bad. And third, I'll quit if they give me hell about any of it, and fourth..." He hesitated. "If we have 50/50 custody and Marlowe wants to settle somewhere else permanently, that's where I'll go to look for work."

Her eyes widened. "You'd leave? Really? You—" But then she nodded. "Of course you would. There's no question about it. Do you have any reason to think Marlowe wants to leave Santa Barbara permanently?"

"Not really. She might take off for a year but ultimately I don't think she wants to be too far from her brother." He saw her nodding, but explained further, "Adrian's not likely to get out of prison for a long time, but when he does, his health situation means Marlowe will want to keep close to him. In fact, I suspect that's why she's thinking of taking off right now: because the window won't be open forever."

"I always knew you listened more than you let on." She said it affectionately, but then got a funny look. When he frowned, she said, "Sorry. I was just thinking about how... aware you are of... I don't know how to say it. How you are now compared to when I first met you. And maybe not how you _are_ , but what you let people see."

He nodded, unsurprised. "When I met Marlowe... no, when I really understood I was going to _commit_ to her—and she was in prison then—I knew I couldn't afford to make the same mistakes I did with Victoria. Age helped too, although you know what they say: age doesn't always bring wisdom; sometimes age comes alone." He grinned and stretched one arm out across the back of his chair. "You helped, of course. I couldn't have gotten anywhere with myself if you hadn't been there."

To his surprise, she seemed to be blushing.

 _Damn_ , he'd missed her.

"Well, whether or not _that's_ true," she managed, "you certainly helped me too along the way."

He let his skepticism show in an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Maybe... _maybe_ I'll take a little credit for toughening you up as a cop. But you already knew how to kick ass when you got to the SBPD."

"Uh, I was still carrying a purse the size of a backpack to crime scenes, and had no idea how to talk back to my big scary partner. The only ass I could kick was my own, when I got home every night wondering when I was ever going to measure up."

Carlton's eyebrows shot up. "Measure up to what? _Me_? I was the laughingstock of the force then. No one thought you should measure up to me."

"Oh, my God." She downed the rest of her wine and set the glass down hard. "Okay, so you were coming out of the Lucinda Barry business. And maybe you were extra hard on everyone else for a while because of that. But I never heard anyone laughing at you, Carlton. The only person who ever talked about you or treated you with any kind of disrespect was Shawn."

He held her gaze for a long time, and a host of memories flitted through his mind.

 _You liked him anyway_ and _why didn't you ever tell him to shut it?_ and _you've never said Lucinda's name to me before_ were among the comments he was _not_ willing to make at this point.

Finally he spoke quietly. "That was all a long time ago. We were both a lot younger and our lives were very different. You want another glass of wine?"

She barely got out a yes before he was on his feet and off to the bar.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

She could always do that to him: hit him with doses of reality, make him think about his own actions, and without being at all perfect herself (though she was damn close), still hold the position of best friend he'd ever had.

And he didn't deserve it. He wasn't sure he deserved Lilly, either, but for sure he'd never deserved Juliet.

As a friend, as a person, she was very little like him, but at many times during their partnership she'd been nearly everything _to_ him. And he could admit to himself, while marveling at the turns their conversation had taken tonight and wishing they'd done a better job of keeping up: he wanted this friendship back in his life.

 _What about Marlowe? What was she to you?_

She was... someone who'd loved him when he didn't think anyone ever would. She had trusted him and given him a chance and given him Lilly, and that it wasn't meant to be didn't wipe out their time together or the happiness he'd felt with her when it was all new, shining and glorious.

Marlowe would always be part of his life because of Lilly, and sometimes when he went to pick up his precious daughter he would look at Marlowe and still feel flashes of those first days of loving her—and he did still love her. He just didn't love her like he _should_. And she didn't love him like _she_ should.

It was just sad.

With Victoria, the sadness came only after a lot of bitterness, anger, haranguery and a goodly amount of shouting. With Marlowe, there was no anger at all. Just sad acceptance.

While the bartender made change, he stole a look back at Juliet, lit by the glow of the flickering candle on their table. She had a curious, speculative look on her lovely face, and he thought once more that it was nothing short of a blessing to have had her as his partner, and to still have her as his friend.

 _So breathe deep, man, and go back to talk with your friend._

Carlton returned to the table with their drinks, sliding into his seat easily and trying to seem like the calmest man in the world—but since she knew him, so much for _that_.

He studied her hands as she held the glass, and then looked up into her dark blue eyes, which were surveying him with a rather intriguing expression.

"You said you have money in your consultants' budget."

He blinked. "Yeah, and the discretionary funds. Why?"

She took a gulp of wine first. "I only got this idea about forty seconds ago, so I'm sure it has flaws, but I know a consultant who would be willing to come in—in about a month—and work down some of your caseload."

Carlton's frown came back. "There is no scenario where I'm hiring either Spencer or Guster."

"No, no," she assured him, "this is a trained and currently working police officer. You could justify it as... as an information exchange. The consultant would work nearly full-time for a few months, maybe eventually full-time if the money held out, and then would be in place to step into one of your vacant detective positions."

His frown deepened. "Sounds way too easy. What's the catch? It's _Henry_ Spencer?" In the next moment he half-smirked. "Though I might agree to that in a pinch."

"Would the city council let you do it?"

"What, hire Henry? I don't—"

"No! Hire a consultant who could then take one of the detective jobs."

He was nonplussed. "I... well, I don't see how they could stop me. I do control those budgets, and the only rule they set was that I couldn't use the discretionary funds to pay overtime to existing staff."

"So this consultant could do actual police work, plus ease your work schedule, and _that_ would help make your case for when you're working out custody in the divorce proceedings." She sat back, and he thought she actually looked flushed. "What am I missing?"

"The part where you tell me who the hell we're talking about," he said crisply. "And what the catch is."

"The catch?"

"The catch, O'Hara. You don't just slide a plate of random goodness in front of Carlton Lassiter and expect me to think there's no freakin' catch."

Juliet smiled. "Okay. There _is_ a catch. A deal-breaker, even."

"Mmm-hmmm." He leaned forward, giving her his best stink-eye. "Lay it on me, woman."

"This consultant," she said with precision, "will not agree to _anything_ unless it is implicitly agreed on both parts, and possibly in writing although a text message will suffice, that the job will include occasional... babysitting."

Around them, the sounds of ice in glasses, low conversation, ripples of faint laughter. Music, something he couldn't identify, somewhere in the background.

Carlton stared at her, blank. He focused on her dark blue eyes, and in their depths he could see her waiting for him to work out the seeming impossibility of what she'd just said to him.

"Juliet," he breathed. "You? But—"

"Like I said, it only just now came to me, but it seems so right, Carlton, you have no idea."

He shot back, "No, I don't have any idea, and I don't think you do either." He sat up straight and hoped he _looked_ like she had no ability to change his mind. "You can't give up your job because you want to help me out. It sounds damned nice and I completely appreciate it but no, I can't let you do it."

"You don't have all the facts yet." She spoke confidently.

So did he. "I have enough. Your career is not something you can put aside for me."

"Well, in the first place, you should know by now that I can do whatever I choose, and in the second place, you _don't_ have all the facts yet, so hush _up_."

His jaw tightened, but he kept quiet.

"For example," she began, "one of the things you don't know is that I've had a letter of resignation sitting on my laptop hard drive for about three weeks. I haven't talked to Karen about it and honestly I didn't even have a plan for where I wanted to go instead, but I knew—I _know_ —it's time to find something better for me."

He ventured cautiously, "I thought you loved it up there. It was a dream job."

"It was. It is. But it's not _my_ dream anymore." She pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. "Remember telling me, the day you made Chief, how what you really wanted was to stay in the field? Well, that's how I feel. Frisco is big, Carlton. The squad is big. I don't get to work cases unless they're really high profile. I spend a lot of time at my desk assigning cases to other detectives." She took another large sip of wine and went on earnestly, "I thought I was ambitious. I thought yes, moving up, that's what I want—to someday be Chief O'Hara. But I miss Santa Barbara so _much_. I miss being out there doing the work. I thought about just stepping down and into the squad but that'd be disruptive and cause all kinds of chaos and Karen deserves better. So I've been thinking about where I can go or what I can do instead and just now you gave me the perfect opportunity."

Carlton was trying to process all this. He understood exactly what she meant—until he'd been able to get back out in the field two months ago, his work life had been everything he'd never wanted: paperwork, meetings, conference calls, budget brouhahas, lather, rinse, repeat.

"But you know what they say," he reminded her. "You can't go home again. Brannigan's the lead now."

"So? I wasn't the lead before. I was just partnered with him." She gave him a brilliant smile. "And you know I'd never try to step on her toes. Besides, if she chose to take on Buzz as a challenge, seems like it'd be easy for her to absorb me into the squad."

"Well, I—" He stopped, staring at her in wonderment.

 _Wait,_ he cautioned himself. _This is going too fast_. She _is going too fast._

"Juliet. You are talking about leaving a high-level position with the Frisco PD and returning to a lesser position in my police department. That's... I can't let you..."

 _But having her back with him..._

 _To be able to see her and talk to her and be soothed and guided by her..._

 _No. It's selfish. She can do better._

"No," he said firmly. "It's crazy."

Juliet shook her head. "If I'd thrown out the name of some random coworker, would you be considering it?"

"Well, I—" Damn, he was repeating himself.

"Seriously. Hey, Carlton, I know this woman, um, Zooliet Mohaira, and she's looking for a chance to work for the SBPD. She's an experienced detective who's happiest out in the field, she always keeps up with her paperwork, and she'd fit in well with your existing squad. But if she doesn't, well, she'll be able to move on if you or Brannigan decide to give her the boot."

Carlton went on staring at her, completely at a loss. It was a marvelous, bad, fraught with peril yet _perfect_ plan, and he was so tempted, and so tired, and so...

"You'd actually _babysit_?"

"In a frickin' heartbeat," she laughed.

"This is _nuts_." He downed his drink and rubbed his face.

Yet the trickling tendrils of _whatif-whynot-itcouldwork-whatif-dammit-whyNOT_ were at him, in his brain, moving out from the dark corners with big grins on their little tendril faces, and he was losing it, yes he was.

 _Pull. Yourself. Together._

Juliet went on blithely, "I would need some time to finish up in Frisco, so... I'm just thinking out loud here, that's why initially I might only be able to manage a few days a week to deal with moving and all that crap. I could also work up some sort of plan you could sell to the city council if they asked for justification—something about bringing my new-found big city skills back to the little village, you know?"

He could not suppress a laugh at that. It might have been tinged with hysteria, but it _was_ a laugh.

She beamed. "Then again, I think I left with my pretty good reputation intact. Unless Mayor Swaggerty secretly hated me, there's no reason for anyone to say 'eww no,' right?"

"Oh my God, you're making this sound possible." He couldn't decide whether to be horrified or to just high-five her. The cackling tendrils were clamoring for the high-five.

"It _is_ possible. Okay, so we'll sleep on it and hash it out in the morning but—honestly, is there any huge flaw I'm overlooking?"

"Your sanity," he said flatly.

"Come on, be serious."

"That _was_ serious."

"Carlton, I mean it."

He was helpless. "I'll have to check the funds. I'll have to read the fine print to make sure the city council can't stop me. I'll have to talk to Brannigan and see how she feels about it, because flaky or not, she should have some say in whether her predecessor comes back to the squad."

"Of course. Wait. You think she'd object?" A faint tinge of anxiety was in her voice.

Carlton still felt helpless. "I... no? She's a wingnut, Juliet. She put sparkles on the mugshot books. But she's as tired as I am, so having someone who already knows the town and the department join the staff will probably sound damned good to her."

 _This could actually happen._

 _This. Could. Actually. Happen._

"Sounds like you're doing some fact-finding when you get back, then. Next round on me," she said merrily, and dashed away from the table.

He hoped she brought back the whole bottle.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

In her room that night, Juliet lay abuzz with excitement. She hadn't felt this giddy in years and she knew it might be a sign to slow the hell down and think this through more.

But how could she think it through more?

Karen Vick would ask her the same questions Carlton asked, but the answers would be the same.

She needed to do a better job of making Carlton understand how long she'd been thinking about leaving the SFPD. About how long she'd been looking at transfer opportunities on her breaks. About how long she'd been wishing for some magic solution which would make her happier with herself in Frisco, and about how during all of that, she'd been wishing for _any_ opportunity to go back to—or go closer to—Santa Barbara.

When he left the table abruptly after her declaration, she'd wondered if her mention of Lucinda Barry, or her acknowledgment of Shawn's disrespect—something she should have done more often when they were partners—had pushed a button, embarrassed or angered him, or worse, hurt him.

The look on his face suggested primarily that he didn't know how to respond. Normally he could hide his emotions all too well but sometimes, when the blue eyes were especially cool or blank, it meant there were things he felt he couldn't _afford_ to say.

And then the idea about relocating had jammed itself into her head, totally disrupting her analysis of Carlton, and just like _that_ , pieces of her personal puzzle started sliding into place.

Problems, she reminded herself. Think of the potential problems.

One, Betsy Brannigan might say no. She might, and Juliet wouldn't be able to hold it against her.

Two, the city might find a way to stop him. It seemed unlikely, but she couldn't rule it out.

Three, if neither of those two came to pass, she might get there and find out she and Brannigan were totally incompatible. But that also seemed unlikely, from what she'd heard of Brannigan. Shawn and Gus had both commented on her quirky accept-everything nature, and if she could mold McNab into a good detective and keep her Chief happy with her work in the process, then surely she'd be able to tolerate Juliet.

Right?

"I'm a nice person," she said out loud, and then laughed in the darkness. "I can adapt to anyone. I adapted to Carlton when no one thought I could—and he adapted to me when no one thought he _would_ —and we both came out better."

Four, maybe he was right and she _was_ crazy.

But five, all she knew for sure was she wanted this. Completely. Unequivocally.

 _That's settled, then._

 _Now stop talking to yourself, and get some sleep._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

In the morning they met for breakfast before the first training session.

Juliet thought Carlton looked a bit haggard, but his large blue eyes were bright and he smiled at her like he meant it.

"You still on board?" she asked cautiously.

Just as cautiously, he said, "Yes, as long as we stipulate that you're crazy to want to do this."

"I will not stipulate to that." She sipped some pretty good coffee and turned her menu over. "Omelet or waffles?"

"For you or me? And you _are_ crazy. Not waffles."

She smiled. "Then so are you, because you're not saying no. Omelet."

"Eggs, bacon, toast," he countered.

"Western. Oooh, maybe the Tex-Mex. You _know_ I'll do a good job."

"Hell yeah you will. That's the _least_ of my worries." He slugged back some of his coffee.

"Well, what's the _most_ of your worries?"

He rubbed his jaw, and she noted a slight razor nick. Must have been distracted while he was getting ready for the day.

"That you'll regret it." The truth of this was in his troubled blue gaze.

"I'm not going to regret it. And even though you didn't ask, the 'most' of _my_ worries is that I'll slip up, call you Carlton and punch you in the arm the first time you tork me off." She grinned, but he didn't reciprocate.

"I mean it, Juliet. You might regret this."

Juliet set her mug down. "Okay, let's say I do. I'm moving back there and signing a one-year lease on some apartment I haven't picked out yet. When we get to the ten-month mark, you and I will have a serious talk about whether I'm happy, whether you're happy, whether Brannigan's happy, whether the squad is happy, and whether I should stay or go. If we agree I should go, I go when the lease is up. If we agree I stay, I sign a new lease. In the meantime, I do the work I've been missing in the city I've been missing, and you'll write me one hell of a recommendation letter if I do have to leave."

Carlton sighed.

"Well?"

"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asked instead. "You seem to have all kinds of answers and it's only quarter after seven."

Juliet smirked. "A wise detective once told me sleep was for sissies." She _was_ buzzed, but it was a very good buzzed and as long as the coffee kept coming she'd be juuuuust fine.

Finally he smiled at her, the kind of smile she'd hadn't seen often enough from him: one of trust and acceptance and a clear conveyance of _I still think you're crazy but I trust you enough to go along_.

"Omelet," he said. "Tex-Mex. Sour cream."

Juliet beamed.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

They agreed, before the end of the conference, that step two—step one being that he had to verify he could spend the money on a long-term nearly full-time consultant—was to talk to Betsy Brannigan.

There was a time when he wouldn't even have considered asking someone's opinion on a decision he knew was good (if unorthodox) but several years as Chief, and previous years as Juliet's partner, had taught him well that getting buy-in from affected parties was important.

Plus, Brannigan, while an excellent detective, really _was_ a bit of a wingnut, so he had to be sure.

He called no one at the city about the plan, deciding instead that the written guidelines were enough to allow him to proceed.

The money issue was settled relatively quickly: there was enough in the budgets to pay for about five months of Juliet's time, and this would carry them past the "you may now hire" point. Closing the spreadsheet with a satisfactorily bold click, he picked up his phone and summoned Brannigan.

 _What am I doing?_

It wasn't the first time he'd asked himself that.

 _You're trying to get Juliet back here._

 _But is that right?_

 _Well, it's nothing to freak about. She's very good, she seems to want to do it for a multitude of reasons which have nothing to do with you, and... you're freaking out._

"Chief?"

He looked up to find Betsy Brannigan looking at him quizzically. She looked at everyone and everything quizzically, he thought. Perky yet serene, and eternally curious.

"Have a seat, Brannigan."

She did so, reached forward to adjust the name plate on the edge of his desk, and sat back with a satisfied expression; she'd restored order.

"Sir?"

"I have a line on a detective with previous SBPD experience who's willing to come in and work for us and possibly take one of the open positions at the end of the city's hiring freeze."

Brannigan blinked. "But wouldn't that countermand the freeze?"

"We could pay for the position with a mix of the consultants' budget and my discretionary funds."

"Excellent." She stood up, smiling broadly. "When can he start? I'm ready."

Carlton waved her back down, wondering anew at her relentless positive outlook. She made Juliet seem like a grump. "He's a she, and there's a catch."

She sank back into the chair. "Did she _used_ to be a he?"

Now _he_ blinked. "No, and why would that be a catch?"

"It wouldn't be a catch. It's just _interesting_. So what _is_ the catch?"

"The person I have in mind is your predecessor."

Brannigan tilted her head. "My predecessor was _you_ , Chief."

"Ah... I'm talking about Juliet O'Hara, my previous partner."

Her expression didn't change. "You think of me as her replacement, Chief?"

 _No. Juliet was irreplaceable._

"No," he said patiently. "I misspoke. Would you have a problem with O'Hara returning to the squad?"

More blinking, as if she thought the question bizarre. "No? From what I've been told, she was an excellent detective. If she's interested in returning to Santa Barbara, I'm all for it."

"Good—"

"But why is she interested in returning? Isn't she with the Frisco PD?"

"Yes, but she's looking for a way back to a smaller setting and we could certainly use the help."

"I'll say. So when can she start?"

Carlton couldn't help but smile at her eagerness. "A few weeks. We're still working out the details. I'll give you more information soon."

Rising again, and beaming, Brannigan headed for the door, but stopped when she got there. "Thank you, Chief, for asking my opinion."

He nodded, thinking _that was easy_.

But she went on, "I imagine it's something you talked about. How I would feel about having her back. That's very thoughtful of you both. Certainly if I hated the idea and you overrode me, it would have caused issues, but as I think you know, I'm an open-minded person and I'm certain that neither O'Hara nor I would ever behave in a way to jeopardize the mission and work of the SBPD, because from what I know of her, she was very dedicated, and as you know, I consider myself quite dedicated as well. In fact—"

Carlton met her gaze evenly, but quit listening after the first few minutes. He let his mind wander to thoughts of having Juliet back in the station and back in his daily life. He also thought about Lilly, who he would get to squeeze come tomorrow afternoon when he drove up to Santa Maria to collect her for their too-short weekend. He thought about his next cup of coffee and the meeting he had at 1:00 with the station manager to go over expenses, and he thought about Juliet again.

Brannigan was still talking about how much she appreciated being consulted.

He prayed for his phone to ring.

God—or perhaps the Patron Saint of Trapped Chiefs—complied.

He let her get out one more "thank you" before he picked it up, and made a note to warn Juliet not to open any conversational wormholes with Brannigan once she started work.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet re-checked Karen's schedule, which she already knew had an empty spot before eleven, and put herself in the doorway to her office exactly then. She was sure about what she had decided, but not sure at all about Karen's reaction—only that she felt guilty for leaving her in the lurch.

Karen looked up from an open folder and smiled. "Good morning. How was the expo?"

"Great. I picked up a few new techniques. I'll send you a write-up later." Her hand shifted, and the sheet of paper she held caught Karen's eye.

"And what is that?"

Juliet advanced, closing the door behind her, and when she faced Karen again, she was met with a wary expression indeed.

"Aaaand why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"Chief..."

"Oh, God." She cast her gaze to the ceiling for a moment. "Please tell me you're not quitting."

Juliet hadn't expected such a quick read of the situation. "Well..."

Now her supervisor—and dared she think it, friend—put her head in her hands. " _No_. Which bastard at CopsWest lured you away?"

"No one lured me; I—"

"I do pay attention, you know," Karen interrupted. "I've noticed your rising... discontentment? That might be too strong. But I've noticed it. What can I do to change your mind?"

Approaching the desk and sitting in the chair opposite, Juliet handed her the letter and collected herself. _You_ can _handle this. She_ will _understand_.

"Nothing, Chief. If you've been able to notice my state of mind, you know this isn't something anyone can do anything about."

Shaking her head, Karen glanced at the letter and moved it aside. "How could you know that, if you didn't try talking to me about it?"

Juliet felt another stab of guilt. "What could you do? I just came to understand this job isn't for me."

"So who got you?" There was resignation in her tone.

 _This is the tricky part._

She swallowed. "I'm going back to the SBPD."

Now Karen's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I don't _think_ so, because I'm going to kill him."

"No, it's not like that—"

"If you're telling me Carlton Lassiter has somehow convinced you to go back to where you started, then yes, I _will_ kill him. Several times. And I'll enjoy it, too."

Juliet raised her hand, despite a stray flicker of amusement at her ire. "No. This was my idea. He tried to talk me out of it. He didn't do any luring, I swear."

With Karen staring her down mutinously, Juliet explained the staffing situation at the SBPD, reiterated her personal need to make a change, and described in detail how she essentially made Carlton an offer he couldn't refuse.

Yet for some reason she left out the part about Marlowe and Lilly. She wasn't sure why, and knew she'd tell Karen eventually, but that his marriage was over _wasn't_ ...totally... germane to the story and had nothing to do with her desire to return to Santa Barbara. She wanted Karen to understand that her motivations were about her own need to do the work she loved.

Karen listened, seeming to grow less homicidal as the story unfolded. But then she said what Juliet expected her to say: "That's all very compelling, and no doubt completely sincere, but you can't go home again."

"Carlton said that too." She smiled.

There was no smile in response. "Well, you can't, Juliet. It won't be like it was. It _can't_ be like it was."

" _I'm_ not like I was," she cut in. "Neither is he. Neither is the station. I'm not trying to recreate the past. I'll have a different partner, a different place to live, a different everything. I just want to be a _detective_."

The Chief let out a breath. "You can do that here."

"No I can't, and you know why. I can't step down without causing all kinds of talk, whoever replaced me would never be entirely sure of our respective roles in the department, and it just wouldn't work. Going back there lets me try something I never did before."

"Come again? It's the same job—"

"No," she repeated. "It's not. I came to California as a newly minted little junior detective but instead of being partnered with some ordinary Joe, you put me with the top guy, the one who made Head Detective younger than anyone else, the one with a fantastic arrest record, and I cut my teeth on high-profile cases. Then with Psych always on the scene, I never really got to do much detective work on the kind of cases which seem run-of-the-mill if you're building a resume, but which matter like _crazy_ to the run-of-the-mill people who actually need our help. The people I wanted to help when I dreamed about being a detective in the first place. Santa Barbara's not exactly the boonies, I admit, but there are still regular people there, and to have a chance to make a difference in _their_ lives? I can't pass it up. I can't."

Karen leaned back in her chair, but was definitely not at ease.

Juliet concluded resolutely, "I wrote that letter almost a month ago. All I was waiting for was the right job, and now I've found it."

"How much time have I got?" The question came with a sigh.

Juliet relaxed a little. "Two weeks. I'll do everything I can to prepare for my successor." She hesitated. "And Chief... you know... I value you enormously. I _so_ appreciate the opportunity you gave me and the trust you put in me. I owe you so much, and I don't want you to think for even one second that I'm not profoundly grateful, and always will be."

 _Do not cry._

Finally smiling, if a bit weakly, Karen nodded. "Okay. I hate it, but okay. We'll... uh... put off the full-out sobbing until your last day, all right? There's just one more thing I'd like to know."

"Name it."

She gestured to the letter. "What _aren't_ you telling me?"

A flutter of goosebumps ran down her spine. "What do you mean?"

The perceptive brown eyes of her Chief pinned her down. "There's more here. Don't misunderstand—I believe you about your motivations, and I believe Lassiter didn't come up with this plan to torture me on his own. But I can tell you're holding something back. Give me credit for knowing you that well."

"Uh—" She foundered. "I—"

"It must be something about him," Karen judged. "And that's the one thing you really _can't_ go back to—that partnership. That level of closeness. Three years have passed. He's married, he has a child. The nature of his position will limit your access to him."

"Chief..." Juliet steeled herself. "Carlton's personal life is irrelevant to any part of my decision—my desire—to go back."

"Hmmm. So how _is_ Marlowe?" The question seemed unduly pointed.

 _Oooh…_

For a moment she considered lying. She considered evasion, downplaying, and simply saying 'drop it and file my resignation.'

But Karen Vick deserved better—not so much the truth about Carlton, but simply to get the truth from _Juliet_. She owed her honesty along with everything else.

Karen was waiting. Not quite tapping her nails, but close.

"They're divorcing. They'll share custody. He sees Lilly on weekends. But after the divorce is final, Marlowe's taking a year off so he'll have Lilly full-time then."

"Hmmm," she said again. "That's too bad. Why the split?"

She thought about how Carlton had described the breakdown, and summed it up. "Reality, I think. Marry in haste, etc."

A slow nod from Karen. "Okay. I'm sorry to hear it. And I'm even sorrier if that influenced your decision."

A warning sensor went off in her head, about what Karen was oh-so-subtly suggesting.

 _Keep the chill out of your voice, O'Hara_.

"Why would that influence my decision?"

Appearing to choose her words exceedingly carefully, Karen finally said, "Don't take offense at this, but... you like strays. You like... rescues. But he's a grown man."

Tamping down irritation, Juliet managed to sound calm as she repeated her earlier words. "As I said, Carlton's personal life is irrelevant to any part of my decision to go back. His _personal_ life won't be part of _my_ work life. Or his. You know him."

"Yes I do. But I also know the strengths of a profoundly important partnership. And I also watched you here the first few months _struggling_ to get over losing that partnership at the same time you were adjusting to a new job and a new city and a new level to your relationship with Shawn. Now Shawn's gone and Marlowe's out—but you _still_ can't go home again, Juliet."

The words were mixed with kindness, but nonetheless she was starting to feel wisps of actual anger swirling around her.

"Speak plainly, _Karen_."

Karen smiled at that. "Yes, I'm sure you feel I'm overstepping my boundaries. I just want you to be very sure about _all_ your motivations. Okay?"

 _Count to three. She's trying to guide you. Just let it go and count to damned three._

Flatly, she gave her final answer. "I'm sure I want to work as a detective under the direction of Betsy Brannigan at the Santa Barbara Police Department."

Karen gave her another slow nod. "Understood."

She got to her feet, said she would check in later, and exited the office.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton rang the doorbell once, surveying the front porch of Marlowe's temporary home. She was staying with one of her former housemates, Eddie, the least flaky of the bunch in his opinion. The property was trim, well-kept, and also in his opinion, fit for his soon-to-be-ex-wife and child.

Eddie in turn lived with his sister Margo, who operated a daycare out of the front room. Carlton had checked her out and her business was legit; in addition she didn't seem to be a whack job and Lilly liked her.

The Halloween pumpkin by the steps was still in pretty good shape, but then he'd been carved to look happy and kid-friendly, so maybe that helped, assuming pumpkins could respond to psychological cues.

Marlowe opened the door and gave him a smile, which he returned with relative ease. "Hey. How was your trip?"

Such a pretty woman, he thought dispassionately, but she looked tired, with faint lines shadowing her face. She assisted Margo with the daycare for a little money; he'd assured her she didn't need to, but she wanted to contribute something, and she'd always worked before her prison term. Even with a child, she felt the need to stay busy.

"Pretty good. Picked up some new strategies and equipment ideas for the department." He stepped past her into the hall, letting her close the door. "Your week?"

"Also pretty good." She led the way back to the kitchen. "Lilly's with Eddie out back. She's ready to go."

"Did _she_ have a good week?" he asked. Normally he got to talk to her every day via phone, but the expo had cut into his already too-short Lilly-time. He'd missed her Halloween costume, and the photo Marlowe had texted of Lilly dressed as a Minion hadn't been anything like seeing her in person.

Marlowe gave him another faint smile. "She's not even four. All her weeks are good. She ate candy and asked about you a lot. Did you catch up with Juliet?"

"Uh, yeah. Turns out she's looking for a way out of the Frisco PD. We're working on a plan to get her back to Santa Barbara."

She stopped at the table, gesturing to Lilly's weekend bag. "That'll be nice," she said absently. "I know you've missed her."

He felt a twinge at those words. Marlowe never said much of anything about Juliet, which for a long time he'd put down to being uncomfortable around the woman who'd once arrested her. But sometimes, when Juliet's name did come up, he got a funny vibe from Marlowe's manner, or her tone.

"We haven't talked in a long time," he said, and could come up with nothing else.

Marlowe glanced out into the yard, where the light was fading; he could see Eddie pushing Lilly on the swing set. "I heard from my lawyer yesterday. He said everything's on track for the end of January."

"Good." He felt the unease again. "I'll check with my lawyer too to confirm."

"And I'll be moving in with Beth," she added diffidently. "Thanksgiving weekend. I'll be able to do it while you have Lilly."

Beth was her friend in Santa Barbara. He was relieved to know Lilly would be close to home again, but gave her only a neutral, "Okay, thanks."

She nodded and went to the back door. "Lilly, Daddy's here! Are you ready to go?"

As if powered by rocket fuel—and nearly knocking Eddie flat in the process—Lilly ran full-tilt from the yard into the kitchen, flinging herself into Carlton's embrace. " _Daddy_!"

The most precious two syllables ever, he thought as he hugged her tight. Uttered with complete love, they smoothed away every other wrinkle in the world.

"Hey, Lilly-cat." He squeezed her and set her down on the edge of the table, tucking a curly brown lock of hair behind her ear. "You look so pretty, sweetheart. I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said, her big blue eyes alight. "Can we go home now?"

He noted Marlowe's slight stiffening at the word 'home,' but this wasn't the time to ease her fears.

"Yes we can." He set her on her feet again, adding, "Give your mom a hug."

She complied, but as Marlowe was scooping her close, she asked, "You come too, Mama?"

"Oh, not this time, sweetie, but I'll be here when Daddy brings you back, okay?"

Lilly wasn't happy about this—and in a small way he was glad, because that _would_ ease Marlowe's fears—but Marlowe soothed away her frowny-face and tickled her back to a good mood.

 _Let it always be that simple._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

"How can I help you with this?" he asked.

"By giving me a permanent job in a few months." Juliet held the phone with one hand and squished down towels in the box. It _would_ close, or she would be most vexed.

"I meant sooner than that," Carlton said in her ear. "With the move."

"Oh! Well, you can show up on move-in day and help me put all this crap up. But then that'd mean the Chief of Police would have to take a day off, and according to legend, that doesn't happen."

He snorted. "Legend my ass. Just text me the date."

Juliet paused. "Seriously? Listen, your time's pretty tight as it is, and I know you need your dose of Lilly every weekend. I can do this. I moved to Frisco on my own and I can get back just fine."

"Text me the date," he repeated. "I will be there."

Smiling at his tone, and feeling proud again about how far they'd come over the years, she promised she would. "I'll be in town next week for a few days to scope out apartments. Any chance we could have lunch or dinner?"

"Every chance. Dinner's better. I can take off early any evening."

"And by early you mean 7:00, right? For other people it's more like 3:00 or 4:00."

"Are you going to mock me or make plans?" he challenged.

"Can't I do both?"

He allowed as how this was permissible under the circumstances, and after the call ended, she went back to stuffing her belongings into boxes never meant to hold so much.

She still had half a week to go at the Frisco PD, and this packing was just preliminary to save time later. Early Monday morning she was driving to Santa Barbara to do the apartment hunting, and somewhere in between, she wanted to tell Shawn and Gus she was moving.

There hadn't been any opportunity so far; she'd been working late herself trying to tie up loose ends and document procedures and progress reports. The chill she'd felt toward Karen had thawed, largely because, dammit, she was going to miss her. Karen had been a good teacher and a good support, and they'd gotten closer during her time in Frisco.

Taping the box shut with a triumphant smirk, Juliet pushed her hair behind her ears and surveyed the mess she'd created of her lair.

No way was all this going to fit in the car.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Dobson approached him at the coffee bar. "Chief. Decent brew today?"

"Meh." Carlton stood aside. "What's the status on that bakery robbery?"

He shrugged. "Looks like an inside job. Goodman still says we should be looking for perps with powdered-sugar mustaches."

An unpleasant memory popped into his head, and as if summoned, Woody Strode appeared with a large folder. "Detective Dobson! I have some very interesting information for you."

"Let's have it."

He nodded at Carlton first, then declared, "Coffee beans aren't _beans_. They're fruit pits."

Dobson stared at him. Carlton sipped his hot fruit pit beverage and waited.

Woody smiled, and Dobson said evenly, "In Thailand they drink elephant dung coffee. What the hell's this got to do with my bakery case?"

"Oh! Nothing. I was just passing through on my way to see the Chief. Is he around?"

Carlton took another sip and headed away, and Woody caught up with him about fifteen steps later.

" _There_ you are, Chief! May I have a word?"

"Certainly." He kept moving until he was back in his office. Coffee mug on the desk, he turned to Woody, who hesitated in the doorway. "What do you need?" _Besides shock therapy?_

"Is it true Detective O'Hara's returning to the station?"

"Yes, in a few weeks."

"How completely marvelous! Do you happen to know if she'll be accompanied by Shawn and Gus?"

"I certainly hope not." He suppressed a shudder. Work life was chaotic enough.

Woody seemed disappointed. "We never finished our last game of shuffleboard."

"That's a shame," he said insincerely. "Maybe you can build your own Spencer/Guster creature to take their place."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, because Woody's eyes took on a gleam of discovery which made him extremely uneasy.

"Strode," he said quickly to distract him. "Is there anything else?"

"Besides what?"

 _Three. Two. One._

"You were asking about O'Hara?"

"Yes I was! I liked her. I hope she remembers me."

Carlton rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She's only been gone three years, and she stopped to see you in the lab the last time she visited."

"Oh, was that _her_? Oh my God, I would have loved to have seen her!"

Carlton knew no amount of counting would help this time. "Go away, Strode."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The second apartment she looked at was the _one_. Half of a duplex, bright and open, good sturdy doors and alarm system, big kitchen, master bedroom overlooking a large green yard. Perfect.

Incidentally, it was just three blocks back from Carlton's house—which she still somehow thought of as Henry's house—but that was irrelevant. The rent was decent because the owner expected to sell the property and knew any tenants would need incentive to move in knowing they'd have to move out in a year. But the full year's lease was guaranteed, and Juliet signed the agreement and put down the deposit certain she'd found her new home.

And it was only Monday afternoon.

She texted Carlton.

 _Hey Chief. Dinner with your old partner tonight?_

A few minutes later: _Definitely. Find a place to live yet?_

 _Yes! When can you meet? I miss El Cielo._

 _6:30?_

 _That's your idea of EARLY, right?_

 _Shut it, O'Hara, or there'll be no margarita for you._

 _Shutting it._

It was good to be back in her town. She couldn't put her finger on any one thing that she loved best: it was just _her town_. And soon she would be back in the middle of it. Life had the potential to be very very good.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton watched a silvery blue Mazda pull into the lot, mentally reviewing the make & model's good reputation, but was surprised when the driver who got out and waved at him was Juliet.

"What happened to the Bug?" he asked while she was hugging him, because hugging her would last too long if he didn't keep them focused.

"Oh, it was so sad. She went as long as she could but Frisco hills were hard on her. She was ten!"

He smiled at her benignly. "I'm sure you had an appropriate farewell ceremony."

"Buried at sea," she joked. "Now where's my margarita?"

In the restaurant, he watched her taking in old familiar surroundings with clear enjoyment, and he remembered how often they came here for lunch. These days he was lucky to get lunch time at all, and Marlowe hadn't cared for the place much so they didn't come very often.

"So how did the Frisco PD send you off?"

Juliet returned her attention to him. "Breakroom party. I cried; I admit it. Karen got an _unusual_ amount of dust in her eyes. Lots of completely random sniffling. Allergy season, of course. You know. It was very nice. They also yelled at me a little for ditching them but on the up side, there was cake."

He grinned. "It's a harsher environment here. We'll set aside half a stale pastry and, _if_ budget permits, give you one sharpened pencil."

She laughed and looked rather as if that would make her incredibly happy, which made him happy, and he had to open his menu immediately rather than begin gushing about how damned glad he was to have her here again.

"You may be interested to know," she added quietly, "that Karen wonders if I'm coming back because I feel sorry for you."

Carlton looked up at once, suddenly at least fifteen percent uneasy. "Do you?"

"No." No hesitation, guileless face. "I mean, of course I'm sympathetic to your work situation or it never would have occurred to me to see I had a chance." She opened her menu too. "But I don't feel _sorry_ for you."

He wanted to believe this. If she was coming back, it _had_ to be because she wanted the job, or he'd have to smack himself roundly about the head and shoulders.

"Of course, she also threatened to kill you."

Now he relaxed. "That's more like it. She knows this was your idea, right?"

"Oh, I told her you begged." Humming, she surveyed her dinner options.

"O'Hara," he warned.

Giving him a big grin, she promised she'd done no such thing.

He wanted to believe that too. Because he had no trouble _whatsoever_ believing Karen wanted to kill him.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The next day, after doing what she could to set up services like utilities and Internet, she texted Carlton again to see if she could stop by the station. _Not for long_ , she said. _Maybe to meet Brannigan_.

His answer was: _She's here, and I've got an opening at 2:00. Are you brave enough?_

 _Suck it_ , she sent back.

But she was a _little_ nervous. Gus had once described Betsy Brannigan as Juliet "with twice the perkiness and ten times the firepower, plus sparkles."

She wasn't sure she could handle the excess perkiness or the sparkles, but the firepower was interesting. But she intended to make a good impression on the woman, because as much as she wanted to work at the SBPD again, a supervisor who hated her (or freaked her out) would certainly complicate the situation.

Sergeant Allen at the front desk was the first to spot her. "Detective O'Hara!" she exclaimed, coming around—beads and feathers a-flapping—to give her a big hug. "When I heard you were coming back to us, I lit three candles and made an offering to my spiritual counselor."

Juliet hugged her. "I am so glad you're still here to stop the villagers from getting past the lobby."

Patricia Allen laughed. "Detective, _nobody_ gets by me these days."

Carlton had enforced access policies early in his tenure as Chief, fueled by a desire to stop future Shawns from waltzing in like they owned the place. Apparently knowing she had the power to block advancing hordes, along with knowing the Chief would have her hide otherwise, had done wonders for her attentiveness to the front entrance.

"Not even you," Allen added, and went back around the counter to issue a visitor's pass, which Juliet proudly clipped to her collar. "He's in his office. But you'd better hug me again before you leave."

Juliet promised, and headed down the wide hall, feeling a weird mix of optimism and nervousness. _Don't let her be too weird for me_ , she prayed, _and if she is, send me good meds_.

She got to Carlton's office door and was about to knock when someone said her name from the left.

"It's you, isn't it? Juliet O'Hara?" The tone was one of wonder. "Could it be?"

"Woody," she said brightly, turning to face him. "Yes, it's me. How are you?"

"You remember me! I never dreamed you'd remember me!" He was wreathed in smiles, as the expression went, and leaned in… as if to... _hug_ her.

Now, Juliet wasn't afraid to hug anyone, and she knew Woody was harmless, but the look on his face—as if he might absorb her into his psyche somehow—was most unsettling.

But someone else yanked on her arm and out of the danger zone, pulling her into Carlton's office and shutting the door before Woody even knew what happened.

"Detective!" The smiling woman with long sandy hair seemed to be as happy as Woody, and stuck out her hand. "I am _beyond_ completely honored to meet the legend that is Juliet O'Hara."

Behind her, Carlton stood at his desk, a wry grin on his face. "Detective O'Hara, this is Detective Brannigan, your future supervisor."

"And probable soul-mate," Brannigan added cheerily.

 _Well. Okay then._

"I'd be happy if you were just pleased with my casework," Juliet assured her, retrieving her altogether-too-well-shaken hand. "You're kind of a legend yourself."

Brannigan went a little pink. "Sweet Lady Justice, if it were true, I could die. What's your weapon of choice?"

"Uh... I carry a Glock 26 most of the time. What's yours?"

"Oh, _all_ of them. Let me show you—"

Carlton interrupted. "O'Hara doesn't have much time today, Brannigan. I just thought a quick intro would be in order. Have you settled on a start date?"

With relief—and a mental note to thwack him later for not _completely_ preparing her for Brannigan's intensity—Juliet moved closer to his desk. "How about December 4? I might need a few hours off here and there to finish moving in, but I'll be ready to go full-time whenever you can allow it."

Carlton's blue eyes were the sanest sight she'd seen in the last five minutes, and he smiled at her. "I will ink you in, O'Hara."

Perhaps because of his tone, or perhaps because of those damnably compelling eyes, for a second she forgot Brannigan was in the room.

And that was pretty unsettling.

But she still knew coming back here was what she wanted, and December 4 wouldn't come soon enough.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Shawn stood in her half-packed apartment, spinning around idly.

It had been _their_ apartment for a couple of years, or rather, the place he moved into with her. When the relationship ended, he'd had surprisingly little to move out besides clothes; all of his real 'stuff' was in the office he shared with Gus.

"You're really going back to Santa Barbara? You're not making it up."

Gus leaned against the kitchen counter. "She told us a week ago, Shawn. It'd be kind of an elaborate hoax at this point, wouldn't it?"

"Hoaxes are inherently elaborate," Shawn argued. "A _non_ -elaborate hoax would be like trying to pass a sofa cushion off as a nuclear reactor."

"I cannot argue with that."

Juliet handed Shawn a plastic bag. "This is all yours. It's what I've found so far as I've been packing. There might be more." She thought he had everything when he moved out, but there were traces of him all over the apartment, almost as if he'd planted items to be sure she could never really forget him.

But he was unforgettable; didn't he know that?

He rifled through the bag, eyes lighting up as he pulled out a small red rubber creature with big ears and an N on his chest. "Oh my God, you found my Noid!"

"Yeah," she said, "I don't really know what that is."

Gus stared at her. "You don't remember The Noid? Avoid the Noid? It was one of Domino's best advertising gimmicks in the late eighties."

She gave him a look. "I really wasn't keeping up with pizza marketing when I was seven or eight, Gus."

Shawn was still going through the bag. "It's like Christmas! Here's Fakor from Masters of The Universe!"

"I think Fakor was mine," Gus said suspiciously, advancing on Shawn. A tug of war with the bag ensued, and Juliet beat a retreat to the living room bookcase, where she was still packing up the last of her collection.

When they had finished their spat—complete with obligatory hissing and girly-slapping—they came looking for her.

"Farewell lunch, Jules?"

"Today? Remember, I'm in town until the end of the month."

"Pre-farewell lunch?"

Gus nodded vigorously. "He'll buy, too."

"I will?"

Juliet laughed. "Come on, try it just this once."

Shawn seemed skeptical. "Well... okay, since it's a _pre_ -farewell."

She got up off the floor and dusted her hands off. "I can't say no to an offer like that."

He smiled at her, and for a moment she remembered when she believed they had a future. Charming, amusing, irrepressible Shawn, the boy trapped in the forty-year-old's body.

She would miss him, and Gus too. She hoped their friendship would last another 30 years.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

"Where is this place you rented?" he finally had a chance to ask her near the end of the month. They hadn't had much contact; between her move out of Frisco and his too-long days at the station (and too-short weekends with Lilly), opportunities to talk had been scarce.

But he'd blocked out Friday, because he'd promised, and because he owed her at least the gift, or favor, or payback? of helping her move in. That's if he ever found out _where_ she was moving.

Juliet said cheerily, "Well, you won't need to worry about a parking place. It's three blocks up from your house."

Instantly he knew the address. "The Underwood duplex?"

"Damn, you're good. What _don't_ you know about your neighborhood?"

He crisply informed her, "I'm the Chief of Police, O'Hara. I have to know everything about every neighborhood. Besides, you think I didn't check out the immediate environs for the benefit of my sweet child?"

"She was, like, a month old when you bought it, Carlton. Not quite roaming the streets," she teased. "Anyway, the movers are supposed to be there by ten so whenever you want to come by would be great."

"When are you getting in? You're not driving down that early."

"No, I'll be in late Thursday night. Did you really take the day off for me?"

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, but… I know how busy you are." She almost sounded apologetic. "When's the last time you took a day off?"

He had to think about it.

For an extended period.

"Carlton?"

"Lilly's birthday, back in March," he said triumphantly. "So it hasn't been _that_ long."

"Umm… eight months? Seriously?"

He decided to avoid answering. "Where are you staying Thursday night? I have a spare room." He didn't know what he was saying until the words were out, but in the next second, also knew it didn't matter: they were friends, and anyone who thought anything weird about his offer could suck it.

Juliet hesitated. "Are you sure? I already booked a hotel room. And I'll be getting in really late. Probably past midnight."

Carlton was still certain. "It's not like I have to go to work the next morning. Look, you can come in as far as the sofa and pass out there if you like. Just know you're welcome."

She said again, "Are you sure?"

"Juliet," he said patiently, "it's the least I can do, and it's also sensible. Cancel the reservation and use the secret knock when you get here."

Juliet's laughter—followed by her agreement—was a lovely sound.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

She was bone-tired when she pulled in, and as she'd predicted, it was after midnight. The car was stuffed with what she didn't trust the movers with, her head was stuffed with plans, and sleep seemed like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow she was having trouble keeping in her sights.

The porch light was on, and when she parked next to Carlton's car, he came out of the house to meet her.

Quietly, he gave her a brief but warm hug and asked, "What comes inside tonight?"

Juliet pointed to the bag on the passenger seat, and collected her phone and keys and herself while he took the bag.

He led the way, but stood back to let her enter the house, and once inside she took a moment to register how it had changed since Henry Spencer's days. It was brighter, for one thing, and more orderly. Less of a single-man-who's-lived-here-too-long look about it, and that was unrelated to the toys stacked in a basket under the window.

Smiling at the sight, she turned back to survey Carlton.

He was tired too, but ever alert; his blue eyes were assessing her. He had on jeans and an old tee, and his hair was rumpled, but Carlton was always _together_ somehow. "You want something to eat or drink, or do you just want to sleep?"

"No food, but have you got any tea? That might settle me down. Thanks again, by the way."

"Shut it," he said mildly, and headed for the kitchen.

Juliet followed, amused, and sat at the table while he got out the kettle and a mug. From her seat, she spotted painted pictures stuck to the fridge, and colorful cups and spoons in the dish drainer. Little touches of Lilly.

"Easy drive this time of night?"

"Yeah, just long. I almost wish I could put the movers off another day just so I can sleep for twenty-four hours straight."

"Which you wouldn't, because you'd be fretting about everything you think you forgot to do." From over his shoulder, he cast her a quick grin.

"Which I wouldn't," she agreed. "Even though I know I didn't forget anything, and I also know that even if I did, it's only as far away as Frisco, not Argentina."

"Right." He came to sit across from her while the kettle did its thing. "You don't have to start on Monday if you need more time."

"Oh no, I am definitely starting on Monday. Don't you baby me now, Lassiter."

"That's _Chief_ Lassiter to you," he reminded her with a smirk.

"Yeah, yeah. Not when we're alone," she shot back, and then was instantly alert to how that sounded. _When we're alone_.

 _Stop it_ , she warned herself. _You are too tired for any new distractions_.

"The Underwood duplex," he said as if it were ordinary for her to be sitting at his kitchen table after midnight. "Marlowe and I looked at that once. We considered converting it back to a single house, but reality set in. Nice lot, though."

"Lots of trees." She smiled innocently. "And squirrels."

Instant scowl, but then he surprised her by laughing. "Dammit, you. Lilly likes the little buggers. Hardest thing I've ever done is keep quiet when she starts cooing about how cute they are."

"Well, they _are_ kind of cute."

"I will throw you out of my house," he warned.

"No you won't." For a moment they grinned at each other, and she thought a subject change would be prudent. "What's Brannigan got lined up for me? Has she chosen my partner?"

"She has, but she hasn't told me who it is."

"Come again? She reports to you."

Carlton shrugged. "I've been busy. She's been busy. _You'll_ be busy."

"True. Is there anyone I should be worried about being partnered with? I know you have some new people since I left."

He gave her his best steely blue glare. "All my people are top-notch."

Juliet muttered, "Woody Strode."

"Hey, he's _very_ good at his job—for a complete wingnut. And I inherited him anyway." He got up to open the cabinet. "Earl Grey? English Breakfast? Some weird-ass stuff Marlowe liked called—" He got it out to peer at the label. "Maple Bacon Chai?"

"Earl Grey," she interrupted. "Please."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

He poured the water in the mug with the teabag, and Juliet was struck by how odd and _normal_ it felt to be in his kitchen, in his house, so late, alone. She'd missed that connectedness with him, even though it had never before manifested itself in quite this sort of setting.

Handing her the mug and reclaiming his seat, he put his feet up on the chair next to hers. "I should warn you I have to leave tomorrow by five thirty to go get Lilly. But if you want to come over here for dinner, I can feed you both. I make a pretty mean chili and the weather's just right for it."

"Lilly," she exclaimed. "Wait—is she—" She stopped, uncertain.

Carlton nodded. "They came back last weekend. Marlowe moved in with a friend of hers. She'll stay in town until the divorce is final and custody's nailed down. Should be late January." His tone was impassive, almost as if he were speaking of strangers.

"But Lilly's _here_ ," she repeated, and to her relief, the blue of his eyes warmed.

"Thank God. I still only have her on weekends but now she's within _reach_." His relief was palpable, and she felt it for him keenly. "And best of all, I might get to babysit when Marlowe needs a night off. You have no idea how..." He ran his hand through his black and silver hair, sighing. "Things feel like they're settling down now. And you being back in town too is just..." He looked full at her and smiled. "The year is ending on a better note than I expected."

Juliet felt an all-over warmth. "Same here." The warmth lingered, which was sort of alarming.

He nodded, told her to keep drinking tea, and got up, leaving the room for a few minutes while she soaked in the rather nice sensation of sitting still, settling herself down in this eye of the hurricane.

When he returned, he said, "Come on. I took your bag up. Bring the tea."

She followed him up the stairs after he locked the doors and turned off the lights, and the guest room turned out to be Shawn's old room, but now a simple, blue and green affair with a queen bed and a rocking chair in the corner, a seascape painting on one wall and a vase of silk flowers on the small desk.

"Marlowe's work," he said diffidently. "Knack for fixing stuff up. I think she got the Spencer cooties out."

She had to laugh. "He was just a boy, you know. Boy cooties expire after awhile."

"No they do not, and I was a boy too once, remember. Just know she Lysoled the hell out of it before the painting started."

"Carlton," she admonished him. "It was Henry's place longer than Shawn ever lived here. And Madeleine lived here too."

He grinned. "Irrelevant. Buying this house from him was a big decision. I finally decided years of experience with all the Spencers was kind of a vaccination."

"You're a dork." She sat on the bed, amused but worn out, and sipped from the cooling mug of tea.

Carlton just smiled, leaning against the door frame. "Bathroom's down the hall. I'll have the coffee on by seven."

She told him goodnight, and when she finally turned the light out later, slept as if she'd lived there forever.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Friday was a full day, and he was a good tired when he loped back home a little after five. Juliet's place was as he remembered from his visit with Marlowe: bright and airy, like her, and the neighbors on the other side of the duplex were a sensible older couple with one well-behaved dog and an appreciation for law enforcement.

The movers were on time, and out again by noon. Henry Spencer showed up while they were talking about a lunch break, and in his hands were two large pizza boxes.

Juliet laughed and hugged him, guessing correctly that Shawn had given his father her new address.

Henry shook hands with Carlton—they hadn't met up in a while—and when he asked about Marlowe and Lilly, Carlton said they were fine and went to find plates for the pizza.

The tactic must have worked, or else Henry was preoccupied by catching up with Juliet, because he never did have to explain anything about his personal life, and Juliet clearly had no intention of telling him herself.

One more reason she was his BFF, he thought, and had turned him into the kind of man who even _thought_ terms like BFF.

Henry helped relocate a couple of pieces of furniture and then unapologetically left them to it. He said he might have stayed if Juliet had been on her own, but with "strapping young Lassiter" there, he figured she was fine.

 _Strapping young Lassiter_ rolled his eyes, and took a moment to wonder about Juliet's local friends. He knew she'd kept up with them after her departure, and surely could have found a few to help her today—not that he minded being here one bit. Not that he even _wanted_ to share the responsibility of the day with anyone. There was a little mutinous part of him calling dibs on time with Juliet, because she had asked _him_ , and she had agreed to stay in _his_ house last night, and she was... he shook himself back to reality.

 _Work to do, pal. Work._

Juliet told him to put items where they logically belonged, but asked him to _remember_ those locations in case her estimation of his logic failed in days to come.

So he put away towels and linens and dishes, organized books and DVDs, and let her putter with her more personal items because he did not intend to be the one to decide where her underthings should be stored, no he did not.

He helped her hang some light curtains over the mini-blinds, checked on the window locks, patrolled the back yard fence to identify potential breaches—"it's a yard, Carlton, not a fortress against the zombie invasion," she teased—and when he had to leave, she gave him a spontaneous hug, said she'd be over for that chili at seven and expected it to be kick-ass, and then smiled up at him like he...

Like he _mattered_.

And he _did_ , and he knew it, and he almost hugged her again.

But instead he went home, checked on his slow-cooker chili, cleaned up and went to fetch his sweet little Lilly.

Sweet little Lilly, as it happened, was in a raging foul mood. He could hear her fussing before he even knocked on the door.

Marlowe opened it up looking considerably wide-eyed. "Carlton. Oh. She's... she's not having a good day."

He glanced over her shoulder, seeing Lilly sitting on the floor in all her tear-streaked, red-faced glory.

Beth, a young woman he'd met only last weekend, dropped to her knees in front of Lilly, speaking soothingly to no avail. He had of course run her priors, not wanting to ask Marlowe how she knew her, but there was nothing to find.

Marlowe ushered him inside the apartment. "I think she's tired of moving," she admitted. "She's gotten crankier all week long. I have her bag ready but if you don't want to take her—"

Carlton cut her off. "Of course I'll take her."

Truthfully he was a little annoyed at the idea she'd even consider giving him an out. Together they'd weathered more than a few Lilly-storms, and he'd handled a few meltdowns in his solo weekends over the past few months. Not that it was his first choice, but any Lilly was better than no Lilly.

"Lilly," he said firmly, moving past Marlowe and nodding at Beth.

"Daddy," she wailed.

"Come on, sweetie. It's time to go."

"Nooooo," she wailed further.

Beth shrugged. "So far she's been immune to everything from sugar to TV." She got up and surveyed the unhappy child.

"Lilly." He was still stern. "Get up and let's go home."

She sniffled, but grudgingly stood up and clutched at her favorite doll, Mrs. Purpleface. "I can sleep in my bed?"

"Yes, sweetie. Come on." He held out his hand, and she came close enough to take it.

Marlowe sighed, and he gave her a faint smile.

"It won't last," he assured her. "She's just in a rest period."

But it lasted long enough to get her in the car with her bag and home again.

She ran up the back steps and waited impatiently for him to unlock the door, and disappeared somewhere into the recesses of the house.

He checked on the chili, listening for sounds only a nearly-four-year-old could make, and just as he was getting out lettuce to chop for a salad, he heard the familiar cry of "Daddy!"

 _And that's when the fight started._

By the time Juliet arrived at seven, he'd had several stern talks with the recalcitrant little girl, who would _not_ be parted from her bad mood.

He opened the door when Juliet knocked, and from the look on her face, had a feeling he might be wearing the same expression Marlowe had when he'd showed up over there.

"Um... should I come back?" she asked between a far-off screech and howl.

"For your own safety, probably." He stood back and she came in anyway. "No questions asked if you bail. Seriously."

Juliet laughed. "I won't bail unless she bites me. Or spits. I might draw the line at spitting. What's going on?"

Carlton threw his hands up in the air. "Apparently this started mid-week and hasn't let up. Marlowe thinks it's about too much change too fast."

Nodding, she went ahead of him into the kitchen, and he realized belatedly she was carrying a bottle of wine, which she set on the counter. "This was a whim, but maybe you'll need it tonight." Lifting the lid of the slow cooker, she inhaled appreciatively. "Divine."

Lilly stomped into the kitchen. "Daddy, Mrs. Purpleface is sick!"

She was carrying the doll upside down, which he thought rather explained any upset Mrs. Purpleface might be feeling. But before he could answer, he noted she was staring at the stranger by the sink.

"Hi, Lilly. I'm Juliet." She spoke calmly enough, but Carlton thought he detected a little bit of hesitation as her blue eyes locked with Lilly's equally blue—but mutinous—glare.

Lilly ran over and clutched Carlton's leg.

He gave Juliet a thumbs-up.

"What's wrong with Mrs. Purpleface?" She glanced at Carlton, one eyebrow arched, probably because Mrs. Purpleface was in fact a stuffed unicorn with green hooves and a rainbow mane.

"She's sick," Lilly said grumpily.

"May I see?"

 _Moment of truth_ , he thought.

But Lilly slowly handed her over, and Juliet inspected her carefully, making appropriate _hmmm_ noises and at one point even whispering in the unicorn's ear. Or horn. He couldn't tell.

"It's official," she finally declared, handing Mrs. Purpleface back. "She's just grumpy today."

"No she's not!"

Carlton looked down at Lilly. "She got it from you. I bet she was in a good mood until you started fussing about everything."

"No..." She trailed off, uncertain.

Juliet went with it. "I'll bet if you smiled at her and _pretended_ you felt better, she'd feel better too."

Lilly scowled— _here's where Marlowe would say "she looks just like you"_ —but after a moment, hugged Mrs. Purpleface tight and murmured something against her fur.

It wouldn't be entirely accurate to say she turned into a ray of sunshine after that, he knew. She was tired from a full day of kvetching, and she didn't know what to make of a new person in her house—she had seemed to handle new people in their _own_ homes, from what Marlowe said—but Juliet at least didn't offend her sensibilities in any discernible way.

He served up the chili and the half-assed salad he'd never gotten to finish making properly, and when he sat down with them, was struck by how tired he was himself.

Juliet gave him a smile. "The chili's great. What did you do for Thanksgiving?" Her tone suggested she knew he hadn't been with his family, but she wanted to know anyway. She was, as always, a safe space.

But the answer was easy. "I worked." He caught the flash of unease in her eyes, and went on smoothly, "Marlowe and Lilly were still in Santa Maria. But over the weekend Lilly and I had our own turkey party, didn't we?"

"Yes, we had turkey and totatoes and pie!" Lilly beamed, and he was glad to see it.

"Totatoes?" Juliet repeated with a smile.

"Monster toes." She had another mouthful of chili, while Juliet turned an inquisitive gaze toward him.

He laughed. "First time we served new potatoes she wasn't willing to try them. I said they were monster toes and explained that if she ate them all, she would be stronger than they were."

"I'm very strong," Lilly insisted.

"Yes you are, Lilly-cat." He drank from his glass of wine—Juliet had poured from the bottle before he got to the table, and currently it just seemed like a very good idea. "What did you do for the holiday?"

"The Vicks hosted me. Shawn and Gus crashed, of course, but Karen was gracious and let them each have one piece of pie before kicking them out."

"Good to hear she's toughened up," he said with satisfaction. "What are the odds that they'll stay in Frisco now you're back here?"

He knew what answer he wanted. Grudging respect for Spencer's abilities aside, he really did not need that level of distraction back in his life.

Juliet knew what he was thinking. "Low. Their business is going pretty well and they both have girlfriends."

Lilly interrupted to ask for more milk, and when he brought it back to the table, he decided he would just leave the answer as given.

She'd moved on anyway. "You want to explain how the unicorn got its moniker?"

"Ah. Yes. Unfortunate incident with watercolor paint during the half- _second_ we looked away. Somehow Marlowe got the stain out but I'd already said the name once and Lilly took to it. Previously she was calling it something I'd prefer not to remind her of." When Juliet raised her eyebrows again, he reluctantly said, "Rhymes with corny."

Again her laughter was a lovely sound, and he had a moment, just a _little_ moment, of feeling pure… _rightness_ … that _she_ was there with him and his cranky girl at the end of this long day, near the end of this long year.

The moment was cut short when Lilly nearly knocked over her milk, but upon later reflection, he knew it was for the best.

Probably.

No, definitely.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet had always considered herself lucky to be an optimistic person. It had served her well to be able to find the bright spot in any situation, familiar or otherwise.

She was aware that this character trait annoyed some people, notably Carlton in the early days of their partnership, but many times—and he'd fallen prey too—she was just as likely to sway someone over to her point of view by sheer persistence.

Betsy Brannigan? Made her feel like a little black raincloud.

By half-past eight on her first morning under Brannigan's command, Juliet began wondering if she'd ever, truly, seen the bright side of anything at all.

By nine, she was wondering why Brannigan didn't carry pompoms along with her considerable arsenal of personal weaponry.

At two minutes after nine, Brannigan concluded her rundown of changes to SBPD procedures and protocols since Juliet's departure, and took her over to her assigned desk, which was between Brannigan's (Carlton's old spot) and the Chief's office, so Juliet figured he might be able to see signal flares if she sent them up discreetly.

"Oh, and your new partner is just on the other side of the aisle," Brannigan said cheerily. "I believe you know Edwin."

Juliet said, "No, I actually don't—" but stopped when Buzz McNab turned his chair to see and wave at her.

"Detective O'Hara!" he said with a smile, rising to come shake her hand. "When I found out we were going to be partners, it was like getting a promotion."

She shook his hand bemusedly. "I hope you still feel that way in a few weeks. Edwin?"

How had she not ever known his name before?

"Oh, yeah. Named after my dad. _He_ was named after Buzz Aldrin."

Juliet blinked at him, trying to follow the logic.

Brannigan helped out. "Buzz Aldrin's birth name was Edwin, and I prefer to address my team members by their given names. _Juliet_ ," she added with emphasis, "Edwin will bring you up to speed on his active cases. I'd like you to work with him for a few days before I give you anything new, to help you relearn your territory." She smiled widely. "You are going to have so much _fun_!"

She had told her this several times already, interspersed with cautions not to bother the Chief too much, to always bring issues to her first, and—not to be a "Dinky Deborah Downtrodden"—but to remember the chain of command, because Chief Lassiter took the concept very seriously and she had made it her top priority to keep his ship running exactly the way he requested.

After the second go-round of that particular cheery warning, Juliet had asked innocently when the Chief had developed an interest in sparkles, which were all around the station these days.

Brannigan had turned a bit pink. "The Chief allows me to bring a little light to his wheelhouse, as it were. Now, about your penmanship—"

At the moment, Juliet refocused on Buzz, as Brannigan had bopped away again. "It's good to see you, but do I have to call you Edwin? It might take a while for me to get used to that."

"No problem! I sometimes forget it's my name too."

This did not surprise her. She asked about his previous partner—certain he hadn't been working solo despite the staffing crunch—and he said Silvers, who'd transferred out after his wife's job took her north.

Dobson and Miller, he added, were hoping to take Juliet out to lunch one day this week, but they had to be discreet, because for all her relentless happiness, Brannigan had a thing about maintaining a clear separation between work and friendship on the job.

"Huh. When I met her last month, she said we'd be soulmates." _Innocent blink._

Buzz nodded sagely. "She says that to everyone. But I think she means it!"

Juliet thought she probably did. "So let's get to work, partner!"

It didn't feel _quite_ the same as when she'd said it to Carlton a million times in the past, but she could definitely work with Buzz. Even without Carlton's praise of him, she already knew he was dependable and steady, and that was a good mix for returning to her home streets.

As for Carlton, he'd had to start his Monday with City Hall meetings, so she had yet to catch a glimpse of him.

Saturday she finished up the _first_ stage of moving in, and on Sunday, Carlton and Lilly stopped in during their morning walk. Lilly was in much lighter spirits, smiling up at Juliet, and with only minimal nudging 'remembered' to thank her for making Mrs. Purpleface better.

Carlton had smiled too—his blue eyes bright in the sunshine—and said, "Thanks for making the whole _evening_ better."

That made her feel better right _now_ , and she'd felt pretty good to begin with.

She'd already been to the grocery store and bought brownie fixings on a whim, so she invited them to stop by on their way home for a treat, which won her a few points with the girl, and in the back of her heart, she wondered if it might not have won her a few points with the man as well.

Not her _intention_ , of course. She was just in a sharing mood and she liked them both and it was pre-Christmas and that was the whole story.

They agreed, no matter her motivations, and later sat in her kitchen while Lilly described every cat and dog they'd seen on their perambulations.

Carlton looked at Juliet meaningfully. "You know what she wants."

"Yes I do. I know you secretly want it too." Carlton had mentioned more than once over the years that he'd love to have a dog but didn't feel his hours permitted it.

"Not much of a secret," he admitted. "Marlowe was indifferent to the idea but mainly didn't want sole responsibility while also staying home with Lilly, and I couldn't argue with that."

"Well," Juliet advised, handing Lilly a napkin for her brownie-crumble-covered fingers, "don't give in out of guilt now. You know I used to have…" She glanced at oblivious Lilly. "Like a million, er, felines, and they don't mind being left on their own, but a… canine is a different story."

He grinned. "You've already learned to speak in code."

Juliet grinned back. "I dated Shawn for years."

As she was reliving this pleasant exchange—ostensibly listening to Buzz detail some of the cases he had open—Carlton himself strode into the station and toward his office. He was frowning—no surprise there since he was coming from City Hall—and was stopped by the station manager outside his office door to sign something.

He complied, still frowning, and glanced up, directly at Juliet, and the immediate relaxing of his features into a pleased smile was rather remarkable.

Handing the pen back to the manager, he came straight at the two of them. "Detective O'Hara," he said briskly. "It is exceptionally good to have you back with the Santa Barbara Police Department."

She stood up, military straight. "Yes, sir, I agree with your assessment."

This earned her a smirk, and Buzz offered a greeting to his Chief.

Carlton nodded at him. "McNab, do your best with O'Hara."

"Oh, I will sir, but I'm sure she has plenty to teach me."

"I'm sure she had plenty to teach all of us." He looked past them to Brannigan, who was approaching rapidly. "The city council is a little suspicious of the plan but they're willing to overlook the irregularities, as they put it, to see how it plays out."

Brannigan asked hopefully, "Did they commend you on your fiscal creativity?"

He gave her a look. "The word they used was _shenanigans_ , but sure. Let's call it a commendation. Or at least belated permission for something they really can't do anything about now anyway."

Was that the slightest tone of satisfaction Juliet detected? Yes, it was.

She felt it herself, and now that he was in the station, everything for her first day felt complete.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

He thought he knew how much he'd missed her until she returned.

Glancing very casually to his right, through the semi-closed blinds, he could see her at her desk, talking to McNab, and even though he was in a different place and she was in a different place and in many ways the station itself was vastly different than it had been three years ago, just to catch this glimpse of her— _here_ —made so much sense in his life.

This had to work.

Or it had to fail fast.

Carlton sighed and went back to his statistics.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The week went by very quickly. Buzz took her around to the scenes of his various open-case crimes, and together they closed a couple of investigations simply because she was able to pick up some of the slack.

She ran into Carlton now and again at the coffee bar (it wasn't hard; all he had to do was pass by with a mug and she would suddenly realize hers was empty too). He told her, out of Brannigan's earshot, that he was going to minimize his contact with her at the station, and she understood why without him saying much of anything: their former partnership could not be thought by anyone, especially Brannigan, as having played a significant role in her return.

Of course it _hadn't_ , she reminded herself. Her desire to come back to SBPD was _the_ significant role.

Besides, they were practically neighbors now. With working cell phones and the ability to text.

It wasn't heavy-duty texting, but every night they had some sort of brief exchange. He asked how she liked being back; she asked why he'd failed to prepare her for Hurricane Brannigan. He asked about her duplex; she asked how she'd missed learning Buzz's name was Edwin. He'd known for years ("I had to deal with personnel files, O'Hara, and you know I hate nicknames; why do you think I called him McNab?") (to which she'd retorted, "You call everyone by their last names, so I think you just didn't like the name Buzz!") (to which he'd countered, "Well, honestly, does he look like a bumblebee to you?") (which made her laugh).

Idle chit-chat, but pleasant and often a nice little close to the day.

At the weekend he had Lilly, and on their Saturday morning walk, they passed Juliet's house while she was outside hanging a Christmas wreath on the door.

Lilly remembered her name without prompting, and volunteered that Mrs. Purpleface was having babies.

Carlton cleared his throat, offering no explanation, so she congratulated Lilly and made a note to inquire later.

It was nearly noon. "Want some lunch?" she suggested, and he agreed easily.

Lilly said she liked grape jelly and peanut butter. And brownies.

Carlton intervened, "She'll eat whatever you serve. Lilly-cat isn't afraid of anything, right?"

Lilly nodded vigorously.

Juliet doubted it was true, and could see by the gleam in his eyes that he flat-out knew it wasn't true, but he was sticking by the story if it meant Lilly might cooperate.

Inside, Lilly was delighted with Juliet's Christmas decorations, especially the sparkling lights she'd hung on the mantel. The pre-lit tree was half out of the box, and she turned to her father and said, "Daddy, can we have a tree too?"

Carlton hesitated. "You have a tree at your mom's, sweetheart."

Lilly frowned, and Juliet jumped in, "Would you like to help me decorate this one?"

The smile came back, and Juliet said meaningfully to Carlton, "Why don't you go see what you can make for lunch while we get started? There's plenty for sandwiches."

With undisguised relief, he nearly fled the room.

Juliet pulled the tree out and fluffed its branches, and once she had it set up by the window, let Lilly hang ornaments as high as she could reach. Based on Lilly's level of excitement, she had judged there wasn't time to put up the garland first, and this paid off because it kept the little girl focused until Carlton summoned them for lunch.

The feeling she experienced walking in with Lilly, seeing Carlton leaning against the counter in his blue jeans and gray sweatshirt, lean arms folded across his chest—giving off an unconscious vibe of _I belong here_ —was unsettling.

Not the first time she'd felt unsettled around him lately, and not the first time she squashed it down.

He'd made ham sandwiches and found the fruit. Milk in a purple plastic cup for Lilly, and coffee in large mugs for the two of them.

While Lilly talked about the Christmas decorations at Marlowe's place, he and Juliet had a cross-conversation about his not-yet-Christmas-ized house.

"Haven't had the time," he admitted. "The decorations were hers, anyway, so that's what she set up over there."

He'd never bothered with seasonal décor in the past, Juliet knew. But Lilly would of course notice the difference between what she saw at her Mom's home and what she saw on weekends.

"I have plenty to share," she offered. "I could hook you up with at least some garland and lights."

Carlton nodded. "No, I'll... I'll pick something up this week so it's ready for her next weekend."

She also knew he'd dread that whole experience. Shopping wasn't on his List of Fun Things, especially during the holidays.

"I'll get it done," he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. "She'll have decorations everywhere she goes."

Juliet smiled over her ham sandwich. She knew he would keep this promise for himself as much as for Lilly.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

"Daddy's going to put up a tree too, Mamma!"

Carlton passed Lilly's bag over to Marlowe, shrugging.

She hugged her daughter. "That's good, sweetie."

"Yeah, because Juliet has one and now Daddy's going to get one too and I get to help decorate it! We ate cookies," she concluded, "because the brownies were gone." With that, she was gone too, tearing off toward her room.

Marlowe quirked an eyebrow at Carlton. "I take it Juliet's officially back?"

He blinked. Had he not told her that? "Uh, yeah, last weekend. Finished her first week under Brannigan and held up admirably."

"You taught her well," she said mildly. "Everything go okay with Lilly? How did she meet Juliet?"

There was an almost imperceptible _tone_ to the question, something he couldn't quite identify but which activated a few low-level warning sensors.

"Turns out she rented half the Underwood duplex. We passed it on our way home from a walk yesterday while she was outside."

 _Now, that, Carlton Lassiter, is borderline obfuscation. Prevarication. And certainly misleading._

"Oh, how interesting. I remember that place." Seemed neutral. But then, "She didn't tell you she was moving so close?"

Here he was on firmer ground. "Nope. Didn't really have much time to talk this past month." He gestured to Lilly's bag. "She spilled grape juice on her white shirt. I hope you can get the rest of the stain out. Might be a lost cause."

Marlowe glanced at the bag, still neutral. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. Listen, do you want some of those Christmas decorations? Beth has her own so I have plenty to share."

"No, it's all right. They were all yours and I guess it's time for me to man up and get what'll make Lilly feel right no matter where she is."

She gave him a look and he read into it a silent reminder that she planned to take off for an extended period. Next Christmas, she could be anywhere, and maybe he should just take the decorations off her hands while he could.

Yet all she did was nod and say okay, and after a moment which was unduly awkward, he turned to leave.

"Carlton, wait," she said, "I'd like to talk about Christmas. If you have a minute."

He froze in the doorway, wondering what she was going to say and how much he was going to hate it.

"What is it?" He had a dreadful feeling she was going to suggest keeping Lilly for the holiday weekend. And he had an even more dreadful feeling he wasn't going to say no, even though the idea of not seeing Lilly at some point during Christmas was depressing as hell.

But she surprised him. She said gently, "I think you should keep her until Monday, Christmas Day. I'd like to come over in the morning and watch her open some of her presents, if that's all right with you. And perhaps we could have a late breakfast or lunch before I take her back to my place."

He realized he was staring at her in puzzlement.

Marlowe sighed, coming closer to keep her voice low. "I've been thinking about my... leaving. I'll be gone a year, and that's a _really_ long time for a little girl. I know she needs to get used to life with just you but I'm not completely ready to give her up yet. I have at least two more months to be here with her, and I... I guess I just want to gradually phase in an understanding on her part that the new normal means more time with you than with me. And that means she should have Christmas at her house, with her dad. Does that make any sense?" Her smile was hesitant. "Please tell me it makes sense."

It did, and Carlton was immensely relieved. He immediately assured her, "Yes, it makes sense. I understand. And you are more than welcome to come over anytime Christmas morning. Thank you for even suggesting it."

She surprised him again by coming in closer for a quick hug, and he couldn't help but hug her back.

Lilly ran into the room looking for him, and he broke away from Marlowe in order to scoop his daughter into his arms, partly to say goodbye, and partly to get his head back on straight. "I'll see you soon, Lilly-cat. Be good and take care of Mrs. Purpleface."

She promised she would, fussed a little about him leaving, and in the end Marlowe had to pry her loose with a suggestion that there _might_ be a cupcake in the kitchen.

He didn't mind coming in second to cupcakes if it meant a peaceful exit.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet and Buzz leaned against the Crown Vic, idly discussing how they wanted to approach the witness, who was flaky at best and of dubious trustworthiness at worst. They were outside his office building, intending to catch him as he exited for lunch, which the security guard had assured them would happen at half past noon precisely.

She glanced up at Buzz. Even with heels she'd always felt a bit short next to Carlton's six foot one, but next to Buzz, who was a very tall six foot five, she sometimes felt more like a dot. She said this to him now, and he laughed.

"That's okay, though. Francie says you can't have an exclamation point without the dot."

Juliet liked that. "She is a _smart_ woman."

"Yes she is." He was quite earnest. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Juliet looked sideways at him. "You know you can."

He beamed. "I'm gonna be a dad."

She gasped and spontaneously hugged him, loving his big goofy grin. "That is _fantastic_! When?"

"Well... after she has the baby," he began as if that were an odd question, but at her frown, he got it. "Oh, you mean when is she _due_? In May. We just sit around staring at each other and grinning."

"I am so pleased for you! But why is it a secret? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, sure. But we want to tell her parents before anyone else knows and they're coming to visit at Christmas. Francie says if they don't find out first, her mother will cry, and she hates it when her mom cries."

"Ohhhh... but what about _your_ parents?"

"We're gonna tell them all at the same time. I figure everyone's gonna cry anyway." He gave her another beatific smile. "It'll be great. So what are you doing for Christmas?"

"I don't know yet," she said. "Shawn and Gus are coming to town to see Henry and Gus's folks, so I'm sure I'll see them." She hadn't actually thought much about what she wanted to do, beyond having a general expectation that she'd see Carlton and Lilly at some point, but then again, she knew she shouldn't assume anything. "I need to get in touch with some of my old friends. I haven't had time to check in with anyone. It feels like this all happened really fast."

"It kinda did. You sure made the Chief happy. But I think he kinda liked working cases himself."

From how he'd talked about it at CopsWest, she knew that was true. "Hey—isn't that our witness coming out the side door?"

Buzz followed her gesture, agreed it was, and they headed him off at the pass.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

 **. . . . .  
** **. . . .**

"Juliet," Brannigan said in that way she had of making everything sound like a joyous discovery, "Please accompany me to the conference room!"

Wondering about the audible exclamation point, Juliet got up from her desk and dutifully followed, noting she was holding a slim folder.

Brannigan closed the door and gestured for her to take a seat. "You may be aware of this, but today is the eighteenth."

It seemed sensible to agree.

"So of course that means it's time for your two-week review." She opened the folder.

"I hope I've acquitted myself well," Juliet said cautiously. She was pretty sure she had, but Betsy Brannigan was a big question mark.

She seemed shocked. "Of course you have! I meant it's time for us to review how we've done in _your_ eyes."

"Um... in _my_ eyes?"

Brannigan's smile was expectant. "Well, City Hall is under the impression you were brought in to serve at least partly as a consultant. Therefore, it seems prudent to ask you to report your findings and impressions and give us some feedback periodically. In case they ask, that is."

"Oh, I see." She'd nearly forgotten the 'shenanigans' which brought her here. "It's still pretty early. I'm still finding my way around new procedures."

"Nonetheless. How is our response time? What about paperwork and report-filing protocols? Any comments about the station management itself, or the facilities? What about our equipment? Granted our budget is smaller than Frisco's, but we do try to keep up. Do you have any thoughts about our manpower allocation during this staffing shortage? What recommendations would you make about—" She stopped when Juliet held up her hand. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't prepared for this so soon. Could I write up some notes and submit them to you later today, or tomorrow morning?"

 _Or some time when you're not jacked up on whatever you're normally jacked up on?_

"I suppose. But, if you don't mind," she said conspiratorially, leaning in closer, "how about a hint?"

Really, she was much too excited about everything.

Juliet thought as fast as she could without benefit of a full morning dose of caffeine. "Well, I would say that procedures have certainly been tightened and streamlined. I think it was a fairly efficient department before I left, but it's easy to see where improvements have been made."

That would do for a compliment. Brannigan was nodding.

"In terms of differences between us and Frisco, yes, the budget is larger there, but we had similar issues with manpower allocation and responding to the vagaries of city council demands, which sometimes didn't match what we perceived as our actual needs."

That should buy her some time. Brannigan was still nodding.

"What _I'd_ like to do, perhaps every two weeks, is focus on a couple of areas of comparison. Not to look for improvements here necessarily, but just to point out our differences." Because she was not about to look this woman in her eager eye and even remotely hint that anyone anywhere was doing anything better in any way.

This was apparently a successful tactic.

"Excellent! I agree completely. We'll meet again next Monday, and I'd like to suggest your first topics be manpower allocation and office requisitions."

Interesting combination. "That would be fine."

Were they done? She hoped they were done.

But Brannigan said, "Oh, hang on, that exact date won't work. But it is a nice segue to Christmas scheduling. You'll need to work half of Christmas Day, but you can choose which half. I certainly hope you weren't planning to go out of town."

For the first time, she heard in the happy tones a slight bit of steel.

"I wasn't. Yes, I can work Christmas Day. What are the shift options?"

"Six to one, or one to eight. Thirty-minute meal break." She tsked. "This allows everyone to have some sort of family gathering if desired, and if not desired, at least a half-day off."

"Nice approach," Juliet offered. In the past it was first-come, first-served, with Chief Vick making the final decision. "I'd be happy to work the morning shift."

"I will ink you in. And we'll meet next Tuesday!" With that, she slapped her folder closed and they were finished.

Juliet followed her out, bemused. As new woman on the totem pole, she'd expected to have to work the whole day, so this wasn't bad.

Carlton was at the coffee bar, and Brannigan had vanished, so she veered in his direction. "Hey, Chief."

He nodded, stirring his brew. "You have no coffee mug, O'Hara. People don't come this close to the coffee bar this early in the day without a mug. Are you all right?" There was an amused gleam in his blue, blue eyes.

"I'm holding up. I was shanghaied by my supervisor to discuss my work as a consultant."

"Ah yes. She told me she was going to pick your brain."

"She didn't tell _me_ until she had me in there with the door closed."

"Sorry. I should have text-warned you."

"You can't think of everything."

"Watch what you say to me, Detective." The words were cool but the gaze was still warm, and she had to smile. "Lilly had a very good time on Saturday. She was still talking about it when I took her back to Marlowe's last night."

When they stopped by after their Saturday walk, Juliet suggested they go see an exhibition of dolls she'd read about. She said it while Lilly was busy oohing at the Christmas tree again, so as not to blindside Carlton in case he had other plans, didn't want to spend time with her, or simply hated dolls. (Which of course he did—or at least looking at an exhibition of them. She knew the guy.)

But he smiled over at Lilly and said yes, and after beating back a stray _damn he is so attractive when he smiles like that_ thought, Juliet broached the subject with the younger Lassiter and was met with wide-eyed joy.

That joy lasted for the next few hours, vanishing only when they had to leave, but was restored when they found an uncrowded bistro to have cupcakes, because cupcakes made most everything better, whether you were four or forty.

Now, stirring his coffee one last time, he added quietly, "Thanks again. I never would have thought of it."

"You're a boy," she said dismissively. "And I know we're not supposed to promote gender stereotypes, but sometimes a little girl just likes dolls."

He grinned. "Now I have to get her one for Christmas."

"Oops. Well, maybe Marlowe covered that angle. So, um, what arrangements have you made for the holiday?" She'd been avoiding asking about it, certain those arrangements wouldn't be ideal for either parent.

Carlton's response was tinged with a measure of wonder. "Marlowe wants me to keep her Sunday night. She's coming over on Christmas morning to watch her open gifts, and we'll have breakfast before she takes her home again."

"Well, how nice." She was pleased for him. "That's very... I don't want to say mature because she _is_ mature, but you know what I mean."

"Yes. It's a gift I wasn't expecting." He shifted, probably uncomfortable with the admission. "What about you?"

"I've been invited to the Gusters for Christmas Eve dinner. Gus and his girlfriend are coming down. So is Shawn, so he and Henry will be there as well. I expect bickering throughout the evening." She laughed when he rolled his eyes. "Then it turns out I'm working the Christmas morning shift, and will go home to admire my tree after that."

He cast his gaze toward Brannigan's desk as if to be sure she was still gone. "I planned to work the afternoon, but Brannigan refused to allow it."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Refused? Wait, when did _she_ become Chief?"

Carlton was amused. "She said it was against department policy for me to work both Thanksgiving and Christmas."

"Uh... I don't remember any policy like that. Not that I think you _should_ work. I mean, being Chief should grant you _some_ perks."

"That's what she said. I might still come in after Marlowe takes Lilly home, though. Unless you want to have leftovers with me." Then he looked shocked. "I mean... never mind; you'll want to rest."

But she leapt on this unduly entrancing idea. "I would not. I would love to have leftovers with you."

He smiled, and it was surely her imagination that he was slightly flushed. But then again, it was surely her imagination that she felt a little flushed herself.

"Come over at two," he finally said, and they were ten feet apart before Brannigan reappeared.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton hadn't quite met his self-imposed promise to have the house decorated for Christmas by Lilly's next weekend with him, but for this coming weekend he was ready.

—Small artificial tree, covered with twinkling lights he knew she'd love, check.  
—More twinkling lights along the mantel and over the doorways, check.  
—Garland also lining the mantel and doorways, check. The damned place was sparkly enough for Brannigan.  
—Stockings with their names on the fireplace, check. Even one for Marlowe, which he felt funny about, but she was going to be there, and it would cost everyone more emotionally not to have one.  
—Several presents for Lilly wrapped and under the tree, and a few held back which would magically appear Christmas morning, check. Although he did not intend to fill her head with any claptrap about a ridiculously jolly red-suited stranger invading homes, he knew better than to impose harsh reality this early in her life, and not just because both Marlowe and Juliet would probably thump him.

—A present for Juliet, check. Not where anyone would find it, check. Not sure he would even give it to her, check.

He was ready. On Christmas Eve he and his daughter were going to have a roast chicken and veggies, plus a red velvet cake. Lilly would probably pick at the chicken, eat some veggies, scoff at the funny red cake and demand cookies. Which he had in reserve, but only because it was Christmas. No daughter of his was going to _not_ like red velvet cake.

Christmas morning would be interesting. He hoped it wouldn't be uncomfortable. It would be fine for Lilly: presents would distract her, and he and Marlowe had so far done a pretty good job of being 'normal' around her. But it was going to be weird to have her in the house again after all these months, and weirder to have an extended and purely social time with her and Lilly together.

 _Just concentrate on Lilly. That's what this is about, remember?_

And then he'd see Juliet in the afternoon, and in her way, she would somehow soothe any jagged edges from the morning. Soothing his jagged edges was one of her superpowers.

The other was walking in those damned heels.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

William and Winnie Guster were a lively pair, Juliet thought. Married for a million years, in sync and yet able to snip at each other, they were entertaining in a way she could enjoy for brief periods and then—and this was an important detail—happily walk away from.

Big hugs from them and Gus and Shawn and Henry; handshake and shared eyerolls with Gus' girlfriend, whom she'd met several times in Frisco.

The house was festooned with Christmas décor and laden with all the right scents, from cinnamon to turkey to fresh-baked bread.

Shawn and Gus quizzed her about life at the station. Shawn wanted to know if Brannigan was still on fire (she said yes), and Gus was skeptical of Buzz McNab's abilities as a detective.

"He does just fine, I promise! He's very methodical. He's not the kind of guy who's going to leap to a conclusion without thoroughly checking every angle."

"Sounds like me," Shawn said in all seriousness, and then was startled when the room was filled with sudden laughter. "What? Suck it!"

Henry scoffed, "That's never been how you work, Shawn. But McNab took a couple of sessions from me when I first opened my business and I agree he's thorough."

Henry had taken over the Psych office and hung out a shingle as an instructor for would-be private investigators and even regional police departments, figuring rightfully that his years on the force would lend him some authority and credibility. From time to time he taught classes at the college, and Juliet knew he loved imparting his knowledge to people who actually _wanted_ it.

Unlike Shawn (despite their much improved relationship), who was now staring at him in disbelief. "We're talking about Buzz, Dad."

Henry gave him a look. "Okay, so you can't teach someone to have flashes of insight, but you _can_ teach him to go over every detail and try to connect the dots. Brannigan does the same thing, from what I heard. He's slow, but he's detail-oriented and persistent."

Shawn demanded, "How is that not like me?"

More laughter from the room. "Come on, son," William said dismissively. "Nobody here is buying that load of—"

Winnie interrupted. "Time for dinner! Everyone come on in to the dining room."

The feast was enormous, and it seemed just right that from time to time someone—once it was Henry—would start singing along with whatever holiday song was going in the background.

Gus and Shawn had a pretty impressive harmony of "suck it" going in the middle of "Winter Wonderland" until Winnie shushed them.

The table ravaged, they retired with pie-laden plates to the living room, sprawling, bloated, across the various piece of furniture.

Juliet was full and happy and only ducked off once to send a text to Carlton— _early Merry Christmas, partner; you'll have a hard time topping Winnie's feast_ —but he responded quickly: _nobody does red velvet cake like me, traitor_.

She laughed quietly in the hall bathroom, and he texted again, _if you slip into a food coma be sure to let Brannigan know you won't be in, but I still expect you at my place tomorrow at two_.

Her heartfelt response was short: _wouldn't miss it for the world_.

The smiley face he sent back was a gift in itself.

Back in the living room, she found a spot in the middle of the sofa between William and Henry. Shawn was lying on the floor rubbing his stomach and moaning softly. It took her back to many a night at the Psych office after he and Gus had hit too many churro stands in a row.

Winnie was gazing at him benevolently—she did like appreciation for her cooking—so when she turned her attention to Juliet, it was an unwelcome surprise to hear her say, "I see your Chief Lassiter is getting divorced."

The music had just stopped, and in the silence, it seemed as if every single person immediately turned to stare at her.

"Oh. Um..." She floundered.

The next song was "Sleigh Bells." Peppy. Not how she felt as the center of attention.

Gus asked Winnie, "Where'd you see that?"

It was Henry who answered, quietly. "The newspaper. Divorce petitions."

Juliet fixed on that. He hadn't said anything when he brought the pizza on moving day—but the divorce petition would have been in the paper months ago when it was first filed, so he had obviously known—and was sensitive enough not to bring it up.

"That's right," Winnie agreed. "I can't decide whether it's a shame or inevitable."

Shawn's opinion was no surprise: "Of course it's inevitable."

" _Shawn_." She glared at him, and said more calmly to Winnie, "It's a shame. Not inevitable."

"I dunno," Gus began dubiously.

"Not you too, Gus." She felt like slapping the two of them. "Listen, you were both there when it started. You know this wasn't some doomed enterprise."

"I'm just saying Lassie wouldn't be easy to live with," Shawn protested, not unreasonably.

"Neither were you, Shawn, but we made it last awhile, didn't we?"

William let out a low whistle as Shawn stared at her in surprise. Henry sighed; Gus tsked; Winnie looked like she wanted popcorn, and Gus' girlfriend got out her phone because she had no idea who Carlton was and probably wanted no part of a drama about strangers.

Winnie offered, "I've seen their little girl. She's adorable. I hope she's all right."

"Lilly is fine," Juliet assured her. "They're doing their best and she's fine."

Shawn had sat up by now, leaning against the ottoman. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it's not my story to tell. He wants to keep things quiet for Lilly's sake, and Marlowe's sake, and because it's just _respectful_ , Shawn." All the old exasperation she used to feel around him was back: he was so frickin' smart but he could be so frickin' clueless about feelings.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Henry interrupted. "She's right. I don't know the story but it's always a shame when a couple divorces and a child is involved. Is it time for more pie?"

"Yes," William declared. "It is time for more pie."

She'd have to send Henry a thank-you note.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton opened the door and Juliet smiled at him, and next thing he knew, she was giving him a hug.

Hugging her back immediately, drinking in the warm scent of her, he managed, "Merry Christmas," and stood back to let her come in. "How was the rest of your shift?"

He'd sent her a text at six a.m., just before Lilly woke up, and she answered that if Santa liked her, he'd keep it a low-crime day.

"Delightfully quiet." She was carrying a silvery gift bag, and handed it to him while she shrugged off her jacket. "Yours probably wasn't."

"It had loud moments." He peered into the bag. "What's this?" All he could see was tissue paper, but if it was for him, he knew it was safe to give her the gift he had stashed away.

"Christmas, silly." She sniffed. "Smells good in here."

 _You smell good_ , he nearly said, _like a snowy holiday in a mountain cabin with a roaring fire and mugs of tea, and this is southern California so I've lost my mind_.

What came out instead, thank God, was, "Reheating yesterday's roast chicken. Come on back."

Once in the kitchen, he poured her a cup of coffee and offered her one of the chocolate chip cookies he'd had as backup for Lilly if she rejected the cake, which she sensibly had not. "Cake for later. This is an hors d'oeuvre."

"You treat a girl right," she said appreciatively. "So how was the morning? I mean, I could wait for you to tell me, and if you still need to process everything that's fine and I understand, but if I'm really your BFF then I get to sometimes just come out and ask you the hard stuff."

Carlton had just opened the oven, but somehow was sure the warmth he felt was not from the temperature therein. "You are indeed my BFF," he said evenly, but couldn't look at her just this very second.

"Good." She sounded satisfied. "What can I do to help?"

"Wash dishes later."

"I meant now, doofus."

He cast her a stern look. "Is name-calling part of the BFF package?"

"Yes." She smiled innocently. "But I meant _Chief_ Doofus."

He laughed. "That's better. Okay, you can get the leftover veggies out and start heating."

She got up and poked around in the fridge, pulling out what appeared to be everything he owned, humming and seeming quite at home in his space.

But then, he felt at home with her there.

"This morning," he said without preamble, "was... okay. Marlowe came over at eight, which was about half an hour past Lilly's breaking point. I was having to make all kinds of rash promises to keep her anything like calm."

"Oooh, what kind of promises?"

"Lamborghinis, diamonds, you name it," he muttered, and she laughed. "I knew better than to offer puppies or, God forbid, squirrels. Almost offered her a day in a bakery and a run through a toy store."

"My, you _were_ desperate."

"You have no idea. But Marlowe finally got here and the storm settled down. Once she had permission to rip through her gifts, the parental units were the least of her concerns."

Marlowe had been calm and soothing. She'd sent her gifts-from-Santa home with him on Friday night when he picked Lilly up, so there was more than enough to keep Lilly focused on commercialism rather than the oddity of her parents being in the same room for more than five minutes.

"And then breakfast was... okay too. We let Lilly do the talking, and there were surprisingly few awkward silences."

Juliet glanced at him, her lovely eyes concerned. "Were you very afraid there might be?"

He set the potholder down. "I was afraid Lilly might ask a question or say something which might _cause_ an awkward silence." He gave her a cautious smile. "But we were lucky."

She came to stand near him, spoon in one hand, bowl of green beans in the other. "And when it was time to leave?"

 _Don't be so pretty_ , he thought. _Don't be so nice_.

"It went surprisingly well. Marlowe gave her a new coat, so trying it on after breakfast was a nice lead-in to getting her in the car with her loot."

This made her smile. "I've said before, she is a clever woman."

"I've been fortunate to know quite a few clever women, present company very much included. Are you just going to hold that bowl forever?"

Juliet retorted, "I might toss it at your head, but that would be rude."

"Yes it would. And there'd be no cake for you."

"Which would make me withdraw my Christmas gift," she countered smartly. "Now get out of the way, Chief Doofus, so I can use your microwave."

Carlton got out of the way, and knew the rest of the afternoon would probably be pretty damned entertaining even if he did get beaned.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet lay back on Carlton's sofa, happily full and pleased with her day. She'd been awake since five a.m. and it was nearly six p.m. now, but she felt certain she could go another six hours if she could remain just exactly _this_ comfortable.

Her blue-eyed friend had his legs stretched out, feet resting on his ottoman. They both had glasses of wine, and the lights blinking merrily all over the room gave everything a soft and shifting glow which matched the Christmas music she'd insisted he put on.

"See," she commented, "how much nicer it is with the music?"

"Don't gloat." He peered into his glass, and she wondered if he was watching the reflected lights.

"Gloating is okay on Christmas."

"You're making up rules again."

"Yeah I am." She laughed softly. "Merry Christmas. Have I said that yet?"

"About six times in the last hour. I assumed you were drunk."

"This is only my second glass!"

"Scottish," he scoffed. "Weaklings."

"Irish," she retorted. "Alcoholics."

Now Carlton laughed. "There's been a few in my family, but I'm not there yet."

"You won't _ever_ be there. Hey—where's that bag I brought with your Christmas present?"

"Um..." He pointed lazily toward the front door. "That way?"

She followed the direction of his arm and spotted the silver bag.

As she was getting up, so was he. "I have a gift for you too." He set his glass on the end table and left the room, and it was several minutes before he returned.

Juliet had moved the bag to the floor next to his chair, and was back in her comfortable sofa spot by then, contemplating the diminishing amount of wine at her disposal. But she should stop; she had work in the morning, and a meeting with Brannigan was first on the agenda.

On the other hand, there was probably enough for two more glasses—one each—in the bottle, and this _was_ Christmas, right?

Carlton handed her a blue-wrapped box with a gold bow. "If you don't like it, I... hope you lie."

This made her laugh again. "I'll like it. You have good taste. Sometimes it's a little bloodthirsty, but it's always high-quality." She still had the lethal knife set he'd given her and Shawn as a housewarming present.

He gave her a half-smile, and she could see the uncertainty in his expression. Just like old times.

He'd also brought the wine bottle in, and refilled both their glasses. She sat up to inspect the small box, and gestured to the bag by his chair. "You start?"

"Together," he suggested, sitting down again.

"There's two things in the bag, so you go first." Seeing his eyes widen, she assured him, "Nothing fancy, I promise. Open the big one. It's really for next year."

With one dark brow arched, he pulled the box out of the bag and unwrapped it, and grinned when he realized what it was: a set of six black and blue police-themed Christmas ornaments. He tugged one out of the box and held it up for closer inspection, and his enjoyment seemed genuine.

Not that she'd been worried... much.

He got up and went to the desk tucked in the corner, and once he had a paperclip, he moved to the little sparkly tree by the fireplace, finding a branch he could hang the ornament from. "I'll hang the rest later, but that'll do for starters. Thank you, clever woman."

"My pleasure, former Scrooge!"

Returning to his seat, he took a drink before pointing at the box she held. "Go on. Get it over with."

"Carlton, honestly, what are you freaked about? Whatever you chose, I know you had _me_ in mind, and that's what counts." No matter how odd his gifts may have seemed over the years, there was always something about them which spoke to that very point.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Open it already." He took another sip, presumably _just in case_.

Juliet shook her head and started unwrapping, and could _feel_ him becoming very still across the room, so she knew he was seriously worried about whether she'd like the contents.

"Ohhhh," she breathed, and held one of the earrings up to the light. It was a key, small and silver and delicate, with "SB" engraved at the top. "The key to Santa Barbara?"

He nodded. "Is that hokey?"

"Of course not, and they're beautiful!" She did wonder what he'd paid for them; the silver looked to be high-quality. Then she noticed the other earring had a tiny engraving of the Old Mission in place of the letters. "Oh Carlton, these are wonderful!"

On impulse she pulled her other earrings out and put the new ones on instead, and then had to get up and find the nearest mirror—on the wall by the front door—to see how they looked, and was well pleased indeed.

Carlton was leaning back in his chair now, apparently in some sort of post-fear slump, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Why were you so worried? You had to know I'd love them."

"The hell I did. Where females are concerned, I don't know a damned _thing_. Lilly is lucky I can find her milk on Saturday mornings."

Settling in her spot on the sofa, she reached up to touch one earring. "When you have her full-time, I'm pretty sure you'll remember to check the fridge first."

This finally got him to smile. "From your lips to God's ears, O'Hara."

"Okay, open the other box now."

He put it in his lap and undid the paper, and when he pulled out the large coffee mug emblazoned with a police badge emblem and the words _I Like Big Busts And I Cannot Lie_ , he laughed and declared it to be her masterpiece. "Where the hell do you find these things?"

"There is a whole world out there, Carlton, called the Internet. You should check it out sometime when you're not running stats and having meetings and working investigations and raising a child."

Turning the mug around to see the whole thing, he just grinned and shook his head. "I think I'll just let you be my advance guard."

"Deal." She sipped her wine, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. "Speaking of you having Lilly full-time, how's everything going? I mean, with the proceedings? Is Marlowe still planning to take her trip? And how does that affect the custody arrangements?"

"Curious-minded women," he said, setting the mug on the table next to him.

It didn't _sound_ like an admonishment. But she offered, "You know you can shut me down if you need to."

He zeroed in on her with those crystal-blue eyes. "I think we're way past the point of me being able to get away with that."

Which, she reflected, was a coup on her part. He was again admitting the depth of their friendship.

She smiled. He'd know she understood.

Feet back up on the ottoman, glass of wine in hand, he relaxed before answering. "We are agreed, and the attorneys are actually working with us and not pitting us against each other, that the terms will be me having full custody for at least one year, and then after Marlowe returns to the area and gets a job, we'll revisit shared custody."

"Do they think the judge will agree?"

He shrugged. "If he doesn't, it's not like she can't go anyway. She's off parole, and she'll be back for visits, so Lilly'll have contact with her throughout the year."

"Um… how is Marlowe able to swing that much time away financially? And this roommate of hers—why would she agree to share a place if Marlowe's going to be gone?" She hoped she wasn't asking too much, but as long as he was in a question-answering mood, might as well go for it.

"Beth has a sister who's coming to town for an internship. She'll take over Marlowe's half of the rent for most of the year." He looked into his wine glass before taking another sip. "As for the trip, Marlowe worked part-time jobs now and then and I always told her that money was hers to keep. She has plans to stay with various friends as she travels, and I think she's been scoping out other minimum-cost accommodations. And..." he hesitated. "I'm giving her some money too. I was anyway because of Lilly but I'm... I'm old-fashioned, I guess." He sighed. "The more I can do to keep her..."

When he seemed to be lost for a word, Juliet suggested, "Grounded? Or just... together enough to spread her wings as far as she needs to so she can come back and be a mom to Lilly again?"

A slow smile curved his mouth. "Yeah. Guess there's not one word for that."

No, there wasn't. And she felt the oddest sensation of goosebumps realizing how there was no one word, or perhaps even dictionary full of them, to describe the complexity of Carlton himself.

It still stunned her how much he'd grown since she met him. Even since he'd met Marlowe. She remembered those days after Marlowe was released, how he'd cooed over her and veritably beamed with the newness of requited love—and yet was still Carlton enough to request receipts if Juliet claimed they'd broken anything. (Standing there in a robe, fresh from a bubble bath with this woman—could anything like that have happened when he was her new partner, full of anger and a powerful need for control?)

She shook her head, clearing the rush of memories, and remembered something else she needed to tell him.

"Last night at the Gusters," she began carefully, "Winnie asked me about your divorce."

Carlton closed his eyes. "Yeah?" Weary. "Took long enough."

"Henry knew too. They saw the petition in the paper."

"Figured it was a tie between him and Sergeant Allen finding out first." He rubbed his face. "that means he knew the day you moved in."

"He had to."

"But he kept quiet. You think his son would have done the same?"

"No chance."

Carlton looked at her now, assessingly. "What'd he say last night?"

"Not much before I stifled him," she said with satisfaction, and he smirked. "I just wanted you to know the secret's out."

"Thanks." He was quiet, but didn't seem otherwise disturbed. The old Carlton would have gone into paranoia overdrive, making lists of enemies and expecting the worst of everyone who crossed his path.

Of course, the new Carlton was probably still doing that too, but he was keeping it to himself.

"You look at me sometimes like you don't know who I am," he commented, again surprising her.

Juliet thought about it a bit more and drained her glass. "Sometimes I feel like I don't. But I like what I learn, Carlton." She smiled, and he smiled back. "Can I see those pictures of Lilly again?"

He reached for his phone, also on the table, and tossed it over to her lightly.

They were the morning's photos: Lilly opening gifts, Lilly laughing and bright with excitement. Her Minion pajamas—combined with a tiara—made her a colorful, charming sight. There were a few photos of them together (and some of Lilly with Marlowe, but none with all three of them, which was probably not specifically intentional), and though he was a bit more grizzled in the morning than he was now, his blue eyes seemed all the bluer with the hint of a beard and his tousled black and silver hair.

Lilly had his eyes, and Juliet already knew the girl could scowl like her father. "You make a fine pair," she finally said. "Would you send me some of the ones with the two of you?"

"Forward them to yourself now," he said lazily. "You've got the phone."

Another measure of trust, and she felt warm.

"We should take one of us," he added, and goosebumps rose along her arms.

She was going to have to think about a few things later. Probably much later. Possibly never. But they were there, ready to be thought about.

Sending her favorite shots to her own email address, she rose and beckoned him to join her by the fireplace, where the twinkling lights and garland would make a good backdrop.

His arms were longer, so he took the photo, and it seemed natural that his other arm would go around her shoulders to be sure they were both well-framed in the shot.

Any other day, in any other setting, with more rest and less wine, and she would not have to push those waiting-to-be-thought-about thoughts even further away.

But right this minute, Christmas felt especially warm and bright.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Brannigan placed herself in his office door the next morning, holding a folder and wearing her usual expectant smile. "Moment, Chief?"

"Have a seat." He was meeting-free this week, thanks to the Christmas season, when city officials stopped bothering him and started bothering their families instead, so he was starting his annual stats and analyses in what passed for downtime at the SBPD. Crime never slept, after all.

"Oh, no need. I just wanted to update you on our consultant."

He almost asked _who_? until he remembered Juliet was still technically wearing that label. "Okay, but sit anyway. You know I don't like hoverers."

"Yes, sir." She sat gingerly, and he wondered for the thousandth time what she did in her spare time, and for the thousandth time, did not ask, because while it was true that knowledge was power, it was equally true that ignorance was bliss.

Still she seemed to be waiting for a cue, so he prompted, "And?"

"This was our first meeting, as you know, and we discussed manpower allocation and office requisitions. It turns out the Frisco PD has the same problems with supply request fulfillment that we do, although for us the problem is forms and for them it was staples and ink refills."

He nodded when it seemed that was her main point. "Interesting."

"I thought so. And then as to manpower, we agreed there was never enough."

Carlton frowned. "I... no. I suppose not. I thought you were looking for some sort of comparative data?"

"No?" Brannigan seemed surprised. "What could she say? They have a vastly larger department but the same limitations on funds. Mostly we just commiserated."

Still he was puzzled. "Weren't you going after more substantive data?"

"Oh, it's much too soon for that. She's only been here three weeks!" She stood up. "See, I told you that wouldn't take long."

And then she was gone.

Carlton shook his head. Three years with Brannigan running his squad and he still wasn't sure if her circuits were all connected properly.

Dobson came to the door now. "Got a minute to talk about prostitutes?"

He blinked. "Merry Christmas."

The man grinned, and came in with his own folder. "I'm working that case of the drug-dealing raccoon trainer, and—"

"Who in the _hell_ trains raccoons?" he interrupted.

"You asked me that before and my answer's the same: Jacky 'The Mask' Avila." He was enjoying this. "Turns out he pimps on the side. Oh, and he only trains the raccoons to use litterboxes."

"Hang on." He picked up his coffee mug—the new one from Juliet—and drank deep, then took a breath. "All right, go ahead."

Dobson chuckled. "Jacky's girlfriend is actually a hooker, and she says she'll talk on the drug charges if we cut her a deal."

Carlton looked into the mug. It had no answers. "Why are you here?"

"To get you to authorize a stakeout. I talked to Brannigan about it on Friday and she gave her blessing."

He beckoned for the folder. "I'll sign. What are you hoping to find out?"

"The market for potty-trained raccoons."

Carlton signed the form. "You don't want to know that. What else?"

"His colleagues. The girlfriend says she can put us in a direct line of sight of Jacky and his suppliers."

Handing back the folder, Carlton pointed to the door. "I don't want to know more about raccoons and litter boxes."

"Understood, Chief." But he was still grinning as he walked away.

His desk phone rang: Sergeant Allen. "Yes, Allen?"

"Chief Lassiter, you have visitors at the front, and in keeping with station policy," she said with extra primness, "I'm calling to find out if you want to allow them access."

He somehow _knew_ who it was, and was not yet in a lousy enough mood to turn them away. "Would these visitors consist of one Mr. Spencer and one Mr. Guster?"

"Yes, sir. In or out?"

"In. But make sure Spencer's visitor pass is front and center. Stapled to his forehead if necessary."

"Yes sir!"

He left his office with the near-empty mug, assiduously not looking in Juliet's direction because... because. Didn't matter anyway; before he made it to the coffee bar, Spencer and Guster were _in da house_.

Took them awhile to advance to where he stood pouring coffee, because Spencer was stopping to pirouette every few feet, and Guster was doing his super-suave "Helloooo" to everyone they saw.

"Lassi— _Chief_ Lassiter," Spencer said with undue formality. "Long time no lay eyes on. You look at least three years older." He adjusted his visitor's pass. "This feels weird."

"Gentleman, happy holidays to you both." He stirred his coffee and gave them both a magnanimous smile.

Guster nodded. "To you too. And Lilly. How was her Christmas morning?"

"Did you get her a trebuchet yet?"

"Spencer, why would I get my four-year-old daughter a trebuchet?"

Spencer tsked. "Hello, squirrel management?"

For a moment it made sense, but before he could compute the ramifications of a back yard catapult, Juliet joined them. "Hey, guys. Haven't we been here before?"

"It was a long, long time ago, Jules. You were blonde and I was impetuous, and Gus here was still working on his master's degree in piano tuning."

Juliet nodded. "I've always been blonde and you're still impetuous."

"But the piano-tuning business is great," Spencer finished, and Gus rolled his eyes.

"Step into my office," Carlton suggested, words which would never have come out his mouth in years gone by, but there was no need to disrupt the rest of the station any further. "Or did you want to go down and visit Strode?"

They both lit up. "Can Juliet come too?"

"I don't need to visit Woody," she said quickly. "I see Woody all the time. But you go."

"No, no, we'll set a spell in Lair Lassiter first." Spencer led the way as if it were his domain, and as he followed, Carlton realized it was no different than before.

Juliet said he'd matured in some ways and that his new girlfriend seemed to be keeping him fairly able to pass for his age, but Carlton would reserve judgment.

In his office, they sat at the table in the corner, with Juliet opposite him, and he glanced at her probably more than he should. She looked fresh and pretty despite her long Christmas day, and he couldn't help but flash back to their photo session last night.

His arm around her warm shoulders, their smiling faces clear in the photos they'd finally agreed were the best.

It had been a good Christmas. He'd been dreading it—his first without the family which had come to mean everything to him—but with Lilly in the morning and Juliet the rest of the day, he could complain about nothing. It was all good.

Juliet had liked the earrings, and that mattered a lot. She turned her head now to laugh at something Guster said, and he realized she was wearing them now. Silver and pretty, they fit her, and he was relieved and pleased.

It was oddly pleasant to visit with these men who'd once driven him bonkers on a regular basis. He could appreciate their bond and their shared sense of humor much better now that it wasn't being used against him or as a deflection of the truth about Spencer's abilities.

Neither asked about Marlowe or the divorce, which was a sign of either learned discretion or Juliet having threatened them with bodily harm. Whatever worked.

By the time they went off to visit Woody Strode—Juliet refusing because she had work to do and Brannigan was passing by the office door far too often—he was able to admit to himself that he'd learned from them all over the years. Not just Juliet, who'd taught him _so_ damned much, but Spencer and Guster as well.

Didn't mean he'd ever let them work for him or even near him again, _hell_ no, but he could appreciate them from afar.

Very, very afar.

And he could even send a sincere _thanks_ back to Spencer's text a little while later: _Sorry to hear about Marlowe. I know you gave it your best, Lassie_.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

(A/N: special thanks to iknowyouknow and jdschmidt for recent comments. Looks like aliens abducted everyone else... or maybe the raccoons got them!)


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton summoned Brannigan to his office on January 2. New year, new normal.

The past week had been busier than he'd wanted, with a rash of post-holiday break-ins. All hands were on deck, and he'd worked a good share of the victim interviews himself. He hadn't seen Juliet much, but their nighttime habit of exchanging text messages continued, and over the weekend, he and Lilly were invited in after their walk for hot chocolate.

Lilly liked Juliet a lot, and the feeling seemed to be mutual, and he counted himself triply blessed for that.

Brannigan came in and sat without being told to, which was a good sign. "Good morning, Chief."

"Good morning. I want to make you aware of something so you'll be prepared if questions come your way."

"Yes, sir?"

 _Take a breath_. "Although I'm sure it's likely already made the grapevine, I'm confirming that my wife and I are divorcing. It should be final at the end of the month, and for the morbidly curious, it's amicable."

She seemed to be waiting for more.

Carlton had nothing more, so he waited for _her_ instead.

Brannigan said hesitantly, "And?"

"And what?"

"Is there something else?"

"What else would there be?" He tried to keep the snap out of his tone.

"Well... excuse me, sir, it's just... and pardon me for putting it this way, but that's old news. No disrespect though, and of course we're all sympathetic."

 _Take another breath_.

"Are you're telling me everyone's known for months and no one said anything?"

Brannigan looked confused. "Why would we say anything? It's your personal business."

 _Damn._

 _I lived in Spencer-World way too long. I forgot people can be considerate sometimes._

"I see." But he _didn't_ see, not really. He didn't see people being considerate of _him_.

"It _is_ a shame, though," she assured him. "That is, _if_ it is a shame. It could be a relief. But that's your personal business too. Um, I feel awkward now."

"So do I, Brannigan." He gathered himself. "All right. I just wanted to confirm, and now that it seems moot, I'll thank you for the discretion and we'll just get back to work."

"Thank you, Chief!" She fled, and he couldn't help it; he laughed a little at the incongruity of it.

Truly, it was possible to learn something new every day.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Before New Year's, Juliet had finally reconnected with some of her old friends, and was sitting tonight with Wendy Fuller, who was still venting about not being in the loop sooner.

"I'm sorry! I've been really busy. Between settling in at work and getting moved in, it's been a little hectic."

Wendy huffed. "I could have bent your ear about so much work gossip if I'd known you were here." She was a nurse; they'd met years ago when she reported her own doctor-boss for swindling his patients.

"You would have _tried_ ," Juliet corrected. "My days have been full."

"I guess I remember them being full before," she admitted. "So how is it, being back at the old watering hole?"

"It's great. I feel like I'm a real detective again, and when I go home tired at night it's not from pushing paper around."

"Your old partner is the Chief now, right? That cranky guy with the McGorgeous eyes?"

 _Acknowledge the first part only, O'Hara_. "Yep, but I don't report to him directly. Are we getting an appetizer or not? This place used to have great guac."

"We _are_ getting an appetizer. Are you seeing anyone?" Wendy opened her menu, tucking a curl of red hair behind her ear.

Juliet laughed. "Have you been paying attention? I just got here!"

"You could have left a boyfriend in Frisco."

"Um, technically I did—over a year ago."

"Not him. Someone new."

"No one new, Wendy. I don't have the time right now, and don't push. Just choose your dinner."

Wendy smirked.

Yup, Juliet was _officially_ home.

Thursday morning, she had to stop at the drug store on the way to work. In the greeting card aisle, she walked by a woman who spoke after she passed.

"Juliet?" The voice was soft, and vaguely familiar.

She turned—and there stood Marlowe Lassiter. "Marlowe, hello! Happy New Year."

She couldn't honestly say she knew Marlowe very well, so despite the cautious and seemingly legit smile on the other woman's pretty face, didn't feel a hug was in order.

Marlowe must have concurred. "How are you? Carlton told me you were back in town. He seems really happy to have you back at the station."

"I am very happy to be there." She smiled.

Marlowe smiled back. It didn't _quite_ seem to warm her brown eyes.

Something more might be good. "Lilly is adorable."

This garnered a nod, the smile still in place. "She can be, even when she's kind of horrible. She talks about you a lot."

 _Aaaand_ there it was. A little hint of... what? Some edge.

"Sorry. I hope it's not tedious."

"No, it's fine. She needs to get used to the people in Carlton's life."

There was that edge again. Juliet felt increasingly uncomfortable, but couldn't decide what the point was: _be_ _careful with my daughter,_ or _be careful with Carlton_?

 _Stay neutral._

"Well, I don't know how much I'm in it. I don't really see him much at work and so far I've only seen Lilly when they're on their Saturday walks. But Lilly talks about you a lot too. I understand Mamma makes clothes for Mrs. Purpleface. You do really nice work."

Marlowe nodded. "Thank you. It's a little bit of a challenge to make outfits for stuffed unicorns dragged around by small children."

"I imagine so." She floundered for a moment. "How's Adrian doing?"

"Incarceration is keeping him alive," she said, "which is better than the alternative. I get to visit him twice a month. Funny, I never thought that what my brother and I would have in common was personal knowledge of the penitentiary system."

"Ah, no, I suppose that wouldn't be in _anyone's_ life plans."

Marlowe was smiling again, and that assessing brown gaze was still not... quite... warm. "Well, I'm sure you're trying to get to work. Good to see you, Juliet."

"You too." She nodded and turned, and did not run away, no; she walked steadily and at a reasonable pace to the pharmacy counter, feeling nonetheless that Marlowe watched her the entire time.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Sergeant Allen's minion du jour handed him a message slip when Carlton came in, and he glanced at the scrawl: _San Fran PD, please call back_.

"Chief Vick," he said when she answered, because he'd know that voice anywhere even if she didn't answer with her own name. "Did you purge my cell number when you rolled out of town?"

She chuckled. "No, but I wasn't sure you'd take the call if you saw my name on the screen. Figured you'd know I was about to demand you send my detective back."

Carlton grinned. "That is not under my control. The detective in question came here of her own free will and will remain here until such time as her free will takes her elsewhere."

Which he hoped was never, personally.

"Can we get that on the calendar?" she persisted. "I'm feeling the loss up here."

"Oh, but your loss is my gain. She's already made a difference in our backlog."

"Well then she did her part; now send her home."

"Again I tell you—that's entirely up to her. Did you really call just to beg me to give her up?"

"No, I also called to find out how you lured her away in the first place."

He already knew Juliet had told her he was innocent of this charge. "I had nothing to do with it. I was at the bar getting refills when she cooked up the whole plan."

"Oh," Karen drawled, "so alcohol was involved."

He felt a flash of irritation, but bit it back in favor of mild (he hoped) sarcasm. "Yes. Great vats of booze were required. I had to set it up months in advance."

She sighed. "Sorry. I just want to be sure she's there for the right reason. That you have her there for the right reason."

He did not like the implication therein. "What would you call the right reason?"

"Carlton, you know as well as I do that sometimes people are drawn to... try to recapture the past."

That flash of irritation was back. "And you know I told her exactly what you told her: you can't go home again, you can't step into the same river twice—every completely true cliché there is. She seems happy, Karen. She likes her work. We like having her here." He willed his annoyance to recede. "Why are you thinking the worst?"

She was quiet a moment. "A: I'm a cop at heart. We always think the worst. B: I know, more than nearly anyone else, exactly how strong your partnership was."

He said nothing, because he knew more was coming.

"And C," she went on slowly, "she let me know about your... personal situation. You may be offended at the idea, but there's still a chance that was a motivating factor for her."

"Oh?" Yeah, even _he_ heard the freeze warning in his tone. "So you think she feels sorry for me?"

"Maybe she does." She paused. "Maybe she feels... something more complex than that."

 _Oh hell._

This was the mother of all mine fields, right here, over the phone, with a woman who was once his superior officer but now was his professional equal. She was sharp, observant, and seldom wrong.

But on the other hand, he reminded himself, she was also coming from a place of having just had her workplace disrupted. She had her _own_ personal motivations—even if she couldn't see them—for wanting Juliet back, and for being doubtful about why she would have left what most cops would call a pretty good gig.

"Karen," he said as calmly as possible. "I have no idea what Juliet is or isn't feeling about anything or anyone. I know this. I am under some personal stress, yes. I am overloaded at work. A good friend came up with a plan to help out the SBPD and herself in the process, and because I know her, and trust her, and could use that help, she is now here working for my department. Anything else on your mind is most assuredly only on _your_ mind."

The ensuing silence rolled out a few seconds.

Karen finally said wryly, "Which rather effectively puts me in my place."

 _Yeah, baby._

"I hear you, you know," she added. "I just want the best for you both."

"And the Frisco PD."

She agreed with that, and after another pause changed the subject, and a few minutes later the call ended on a more pleasant note.

But he was uneasy.

He believed Juliet, about why she wanted to leave Frisco. He believed her when she said she was glad to be home. But he couldn't help but wonder if maybe his situation _had_ appealed in some small way to her natural inclination to look after strays. To be _nice_.

And he had to wonder if he might need to back off with the evening texts and the Saturday walks. Maybe he needed to be sure she had all the opportunities she needed to build a new life here in Santa Barbara, one independent of the old life.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet lay in bed, ready to turn out the light. Tomorrow was Friday and she had dinner plans with another old friend. The new year was shaping up pretty well.

Picking up her phone, she texted Carlton: _Today Woody asked me if I was working here or just visiting. AGAIN_.

Her phone lit up pretty fast: _Give him a different answer each time._

 _I think I'll ask him if we've even met._

 _Hell, that'll blow his mind. And then he'll say no_.

 _Probably._

She hadn't told him about running into Marlowe, and was wondering whether she should say so via text vs. in person when her screen lit up again.

 _You don't text me because you think you have to, right?_

She stared at the puzzling words. _Of course not. I text you because I want to_.

No answer.

She sent: _Why do you text me?_

Pause.

 _Because I want to._ Another, while she was smiling: _And because you answer_.

 _I'll always answer. BFF._

Pause.

:-) _You have other Fs. Don't let me get in the way of you reconnecting. Or making new Fs._

This was odd. Something had made him thinky, and she didn't trust it.

 _You're not. I had dinner with Wendy last night and tomorrow it's Katherine. And I count Lilly as a new friend too_.

 _Not Mrs. Purpleface?_

 _No. She's way standoffish._

For that, another smile emoji—Carlton had come a long way—and then he sent: _I want you to have a full life here. Not just one about the station and me._

What in the _hell_ had put him in this mood?

 _You and the station and Lilly and my old friends are the life I need and want. Who's been screwing with your head?_

Damnable pause. She should just call him.

But then: _When have I ever needed anyone's help being screwed up?_

 _Touché. Forgot you were a pro._

 _You know it. See you at the coffee bar tomorrow?_

 _Of course._

She let him go, because while she knew she _could_ press him into telling her more, sometimes it was fair to let him retreat. That he'd asked his opening question was significant itself, and she'd take it as a good sign.

But she'd better not run into whoever made him thinky, because that person was going to end up with a broken nose.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

January 23.

Carlton looked at the signed papers.

It was real, and he was single again.

He'd stood with Marlowe in court, both somber, before a somber judge, on a somber gray day, and now it was real.

It was time to go inside the police station and get to work, but he allowed himself a moment, or ten, to sit in the car absorbing the flattening reality of it all.

Hands over his eyes, he rubbed his forehead hard. A tension headache had been building all morning and he needed aspirin and a large coffee.

It was sixty degrees outside but he felt cold. It was seeping into the car around him, into his bones. The gray sky made it feel colder, and he didn't want to go inside. He wanted to drive off somewhere and just stare at nothing for awhile.

His phone buzzed and he almost didn't look at the screen, but he was the Chief, dammit.

Juliet: _I saw you pull in. Are you okay?_

 _No._

 _Carlton?_

 _Yeah. It's done._

She knew the court date. He'd told her a few days ago. The custody hearing was tomorrow at one.

 _Do you have anything else on your schedule this morning?_

 _No. Don't honestly care if I do._

 _Then how about I come out to the car and we drive to a faraway Starbucks for awhile?_

He started the engine. _Walk fast._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

His blue eyes, contrasting with his black and silver hair, seemed extra large and beautiful today, maybe because of the clouds. He would object to that description, but it was true.

He'd asked to take their coffees down the block to a park, and sat beside her now on a bench near a small fountain, but he looked as if he'd just as soon stretch out and rest awhile.

"It went okay, though," she prompted.

"Yeah, it went fine." He sipped the coffee. "I just didn't know I'd feel this way."

Juliet studied him. "You thought you had everything under control."

Carlton nodded. "But in my life, how many damn times have I been wrong about that? You'd think I'd have learned by now."

"A sense of control is fleeting for most of us," she said with a faint smile. "You're not exempt."

The light breeze was a little cool, but she hid her shiver because she didn't want to distract him.

He was silent anyway, staring at the fountain, sipping the coffee.

"So how do you feel? I can only tell you how you look."

One dark eyebrow arched. "If I look like I've been run through a grinder, then yeah, that's how I feel."

"You know it'll pass."

"Yeah, but it's a hell of a lot harder this time. Maybe because I'm older. Maybe because Marlowe was supposed to..." He let out a breath. "Because _I_ was supposed to be different."

"You were," she reminded him. "If you're comparing this to your marriage to Victoria, stop. You were different going in and different coming out."

Carlton nodded, but whether he agreed, Juliet couldn't really tell.

"So now the custody hearing?"

"Tomorrow. The lawyers say they expect it to go smoothly." His tone was flat.

"How fast will everything happen then?"

"End of the month, probably. Marlowe's planning to head out on February 5th, so Lilly will be moving in for good that weekend."

Juliet prodded, "And it _is_ good. It's what you hoped for. What you wanted."

"What I _wanted_ ," he countered slowly, "was to not screw up another marriage, and raise my daughter with her mother right there."

"Carlton, you did not screw up a marriage. You know you didn't, you know _she_ didn't, and you know this is all going really well as far as Lilly's concerned." She reached over and poked at his arm lightly. "Don't make me crawl up in your head and adjust your thinking manually."

He eyed her now, slight smile seeming genuine. "If anyone could, it'd be you. I know, I know. I'm just in self-pity mode."

"And you're _allowed_ to feel that way for awhile. You _are_. Don't cheat yourself of... being human, okay?"

Carlton's gaze was again fixed on the fountain. "I remember a day you told me to pretend to be a person." Now he looked at her, the crystal blue muted. "I don't know why anyone wants to be a person at all if it means feeling like this."

That was it. Juliet set her coffee down and slid close to him on the bench, one arm around his back as she pressed herself to his side. It was an awkward hug, but he returned it immediately, burying his face against her shoulder, sighing.

"I'm not going to tell you it's okay, Carlton," she murmured, stroking his soft hair. "But it will be eventually. I promise."

He only sighed and held on tighter, and her heart swelled at the emotion welling up inside her, because her friend was in pain and was letting her comfort him.

They sat close and quiet for awhile longer until he found reserve enough to sit up straight, and Juliet let him distance himself from her a little, feeling surprisingly bereft without his warmth.

Carlton leaned back, legs stretched out, and finished his coffee without saying anything else.

But by accepting the embrace, and trusting her, she felt he'd said plenty.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Another day in court.

Another feeling of grayness, despite the sunshine, and despite the peaceful outcome he'd wanted: Lilly was his for a year, and there was no fighting or trauma about it.

Except for the trauma of having to go through it at all, and the possible trauma for Lilly in the future.

But he was taking Juliet's advice and believing it might _not_ all blow up in his face at the expense of his daughter's well-being.

Or he was trying, anyway. Optimism had never been a buddy of his.

Marlowe, as they exited the courtroom, tugged on his arm lightly.

He stopped with her against the wall, while their wary lawyers stood nearby, as if they halfway expected all this _calm_ was about to end in a rip-roaring set-to.

Carlton was too weary to be annoyed. He might have wondered the same thing if he were on their side of the paychecks.

"Carlton," she said cautiously. "Could I... I know you don't have to. I know you might not want to and I understand. But could I keep Lilly this weekend?"

It took him a moment to translate the request into English; that's how far off-kilter he felt.

"Please." It was a whisper.

"Yes, of course," he assured her, his heart squeezing at her obvious fear he wouldn't agree.

"I'll bring her to you next Friday. I just thought..."

"I understand. It's okay. It'll be a nice... it'll be good."

She would bring Lilly to the house next Friday night, and have that last weekend to pack up what she needed for her grand journey. This weekend would be her last chance for quality time with Lilly.

He'd explained to Juliet, who was curious, that they'd started Lilly in daycare back in November, working toward the time when he'd have full custody. The sooner she got used to spending her daytime hours with strangers—though he was training himself not to assign a negative connotation to that term—the easier the transition would be between Marlowe dropping her off and picking her up, and Carlton doing it himself.

Marlowe was smiling, looking a bit misty-eyed. "Thank you."

"It'll be good for you both," he repeated, lacking any other sensible words.

"And one day next week I'd like to bring some of her things over to the house. If you could get home early one night, or leave late one morning?"

He swallowed. "You still have a key."

Marlowe nodded. "Yes. But I'll be leaving it with you."

Oh, that hurt a little. So final in its simplicity. But she wouldn't need his house key as she traveled, and she would never live with him again, so it was only logical, right?

Carlton focused. "Just let me know what day and we'll work something out."

"Thanks." She stepped into his arms for a brief hug, and he clung to her briefly, because what else could he do?

This was really ending. Or changing, at any rate, in a way to top all the other changes. And it sucked, but he still cared about her and always would.

"Sorry," he whispered against her hair. "For everything."

"Me too," she whispered back.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The knock came late morning on Saturday, but when Juliet went to answer the door, Carlton stood alone on her porch.

Hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, crystal blue eyes as muted as they'd been on Tuesday—and really all week long when she'd seen him at the station—he looked as if his windbreaker was giving him no comfort.

"Lilly's with Marlowe this weekend," he explained in lieu of a greeting. "Thought I'd stop by anyway to let you know we weren't cutting you off. You just get the morning to yourself."

For a second he appeared to be actually about to _leave_ , and she did _not_ want that.

"Wait, so I don't get to visit with you unless there's a chaperone?"

He blinked, and then a slow smile overtook him.

"Come in, silly man. I have coffee and cookies and if you fall asleep while I'm chattering away, you probably need to."

"If the coffee's strong enough, I'll be fine." He followed her to the kitchen, and stood by the window overlooking the back yard while she poured the brew into large mugs.

Sitting with her at the table, he drank deep and contemplated the cookie she handed him.

From their brief texts the last two nights, she knew the custody hearing had gone as he'd hoped. From _looking_ at him, she knew he was still in a pretty subdued place, and probably exhausted.

"Eat the cookie," she suggested. "Tastes better that way."

"Looks pretty good. Smells good too."

"It _is_ good. I'll bet I wouldn't have to talk Lilly into trying it."

"No," he agreed, and finally took a bite, seeming to appreciate its still-warm chocolatey goodness.

"You still feel like a zombie, I gather."

"Yeah. But I'll have it together by next Friday night."

"That's a week away. How can I help before then?"

"Distract me. But I don't know how."

"Shooting range," Juliet suggested, and damn if he didn't light up. She laughed, and thought for the thousandth time how much a smile transformed his lean face and turned those already impressive blue eyes into something truly gorgeous... and then for the thousandth time she told herself to hush it.

Carlton laughed too. "What the hell does that say about me? Shooting stuff cheers me up? I _am_ a mess."

"No, you just know what your happy place is."

"I think these days my happy places start with Lilly and you," he said lightly, and her breath caught a little.

 _Keep it neutral, girl._

He added, "You're doing an admirable job at this BFF business."

"I do an admirable job of everything," she retorted, and he nodded as if there were to be no argument about that.

Which of course there wasn't.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

They had lunch (after destroying a few targets apiece), large bowls of chili from an old favorite diner, and he was feeling better. A little more connected to the world.

It was Juliet of course, not the shooting; whereas the shooting range had once provided all the therapy he'd ever needed (actual psychotherapist opinions notwithstanding), he'd learned with age how to take his relaxation from humans who cared about him: first Marlowe, then Lilly, and now—as it used to be once and again in the past—Juliet.

She was such a bright, glowing... _force_ in his life. He idly wondered how she would react if he told her.

Probably she'd smile and thank him and say something nice back, but he didn't need her to say anything nice.

She pushed her chili bowl away, having done a pretty good job of making its contents disappear. "Indecently delicious," she said with a sigh.

"Just like always," he agreed.

"Hey, the shooting range reminded me." Her dark blue eyes were inquisitive. "You know I was dead serious about babysitting, right?"

Carlton laughed. "Yeah, you seemed that way, though I don't know how many chances you'll get."

She scoffed, "You could develop a social life."

"Or a Broadway career," he countered.

"But admittedly," she said with a pointed look, "it is more likely in the very _extremely_ short term before a social life develops, that you'll have Chiefly obligations after hours."

"Yeah, and?" There had already been a few, but only on weeknights, when Marlowe had Lilly.

"And if Lilly's ever going to spend an extended amount of time in my place, I want to get a gun safe. I never felt I needed one before, even with Shawn around."

He had not been expecting that (or the comparison of Spencer to a toddler). "Okay. Yes, that'd be good. Thank you."

"What... um... what do you do about your weapons?" The question seemed hesitant, as if she thought he might take offense.

"Weapon," he corrected. "I just have the one."

Juliet was surprised. "Really?"

"Really. Well, I have an antique Civil War era piece but it's in my safety deposit box. The only other gun I own goes to work with me and gets locked up as soon as I get home. Even after Marlowe moved out, I've kept to that routine."

"Huh." She looked impressed. "I'm surprised. But maybe not."

Carlton shrugged. "I never thought I'd take such a sharp turn in my attitude, either. But after Lilly was born I tried to convince Marlowe to learn how to shoot, and she wasn't interested. I told her she'd need to protect herself and our child and how all kinds of people want to kill me—which yeah, I know nobody cares enough to want me dead—" He paused at her frown. "Criminals, that is. Better?"

Juliet nodded. "Much."

"Anyway, one day she said that if she needed to protect Lilly in our home, she'd rather do it with her arms around her than set her apart and alone while she wasted time fetching a gun."

He remembered feeling the sheer power of that concept enveloping him. He remembered looking over at Lilly in her crib, sleepily suckling on her pacifier, and Marlowe's words simply resonated with him, with every last atom of his being.

Juliet was looking at him solemnly.

Carlton nodded. "I got rid of all of them except the service weapon. Bought a safe. I change the combination every few months and when Lilly gets old enough to be sneaky about paying attention, I'll change it every week. We are never going to be one of those statistics involving a child dying, or killing someone else, because of an unsecured weapon. I figure I've still got a few tricks left to defend myself and Lilly from any home invader, and the really odd thing is…" He paused, and smiled. "I haven't missed the extra firepower at all."

Her smile was slow and glorious. "And you don't even need it, because you are a kick-ass bad-ass."

He grinned. "Thank you for noticing."

"I always have," Juliet assured him.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

"Mamma's going on a trip," Lilly said as soon as he opened the door for them on Friday night. Then she remembered she hadn't seen him in awhile and flung her arms around him.

Marlowe set Lilly's bag—the last one, he reflected—on the floor just inside the door.

"Hey, Lilly-cat. I missed you this week." He'd talked to her on the phone—conversations which were never completely fulfilling because four-year-olds tended not to have very long attention spans—but hadn't seen her.

"I missed you too, Daddy! Mamma's going on a trip."

"I know. You told me."

"I'll send you some presents," Marlowe added, patting Lilly on the back. "And I'll call you."

Lilly beamed: she knew all about presents.

Carlton set the little girl down and invited Marlowe the rest of the way in but she declined.

He could tell she was trying to hold it together. "It's okay," he murmured.

"It's not," she said, and brushed back a tear while Lilly was preoccupied with opening up the bag to pull out... well, everything.

"I think that's the last of it. You have Beth's number, and remember she said she'd babysit anytime you need her."

"Yes. Thanks."

She drew in a breath. "I have to go _now_ , Carlton, or..." Another breath. "Lilly, I need a hug before I leave."

Lilly obliged, and Marlowe held on tight, and Carlton's eyes were burning and it was so damned hard.

"I'll talk to you soon, honey," she said against Lilly's hair, then thrust her at Carlton and was gone.

And he'd have had to do it the same exact way.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet heard a knock. Just past seven on a Friday night, not exactly the witching hour. Maybe her neighbor. She hoped not, because she'd been on her feet all day with Buzz chasing after some larcenous cheerleaders and to rest was her dearest desire. That and to wonder how it was going with Carlton and his fractured family.

When the knock came again, she reluctantly got up from her sofa and padded to the door, but through the peephole was surprised to see Marlowe Lassiter, and immediately opened it up.

"Hi," the other woman said softly. "Can I come in a minute?"

"Yes of course." She held the door wide and gestured for Marlowe to sit.

She looked wiped out, but resolute. "I just dropped Lilly off at Carlton's place."

Juliet felt her pain—it was evident in her sad brown eyes. "I'm sure it was hard to do that."

A nod. "I was supposed to leave on Monday but I think I'm going tomorrow. I think the longer I wait, the less likely I am to do it, and I _need_ to do this."

Juliet sat across from her, ready to listen.

Marlowe smiled faintly. "I imagine Carlton's told you something about my plans."

 _Careful._

"He said you needed a chance to just take care of you. After a lifetime of taking care of everyone else."

Another nod. "That's... essentially it. And I have to do it now because if I wait until Lilly's older, she might not... forget so easily. Not that she'll forget her mother abandoning her for a year, but—"

"You're not abandoning her," Juliet cut in. "Don't think of it that way. I know you'll be in touch with her and she'll _never_ feel abandoned. Carlton won't let her feel that way."

Marlowe put her hands to her face, breathing unsteadily. "No one can know for sure."

" _I_ know." She hesitated only a moment. "My father _did_ abandon my family. He's a con artist and a fraud and even though as an adult I learned he never stopped loving me, it sure felt like he did when I was a kid and he was just _gone_ from my life. You're not abandoning your daughter. Trust me on this."

The smile was unsteady, like her breathing, but it was genuine. "Thank you. Carlton's said the same thing but... my self-doubts are pretty rampant right now."

Juliet kind of wanted to hug her. "You've both had a rough time. But Lilly's going to be fine, Marlowe, I promise."

There was a tissue box on the end table, and Marlowe availed herself of it, to dab at her eyes briefly. "That's why I'm here, really. About Lilly."

"Yes?"

"Carlton's strong. You know that. But I don't think _he_ thinks he can do this—being a single parent. I know he can—you know he can. But I think he doubts himself."

Juliet certainly knew that, and thought it was safe to assume many in his position would think the same way.

"And... that's where I'm counting on you."

"Me?"

 _Again, be careful._

"You know him better than I do. You can probably see more clearly than anyone else when he's having a difficulty he can't get past, because as partners you had to know each other inside and out."

Slowly, she offered up, "But he's very private. There are things about him it took me years to learn because he didn't want them known."

Marlowe nodded, and she sounded stronger now. "And I could have remained married to him for another twenty years and _never_ have learned those things if he didn't want to share them."

There was no censure or jealousy or bitterness in the words, and nothing Juliet could say to contradict them.

"So I need you, Juliet."

She swallowed. "What can I do?"

Pulling a slip of paper out of her pocket, Marlowe set it on the table near the tissue box. "That's my cell number. If you ever feel that he's talked himself into a corner where Lilly's concerned, if he ever gets to where he's so consumed by fear of screwing up that he might be making a mistake—and I know it's an imposition to put this on you, I do—then please call me. I think he might be afraid to call on me if he gets stuck or _thinks_ he's stuck. He might think he has to leave me out of the loop out of respect for me, but I don't want that. This is going to be hard for me. For a long time. For most of the time I'm away, I know it's going to kill me to not be with my daughter. But making this journey... comes with a pricetag. And if part of that price means flying back from, you know, Newfoundland to help him solve a Lilly problem that you two can't solve, I will do it. You understand? I don't want him to make it easy for me. It's not supposed to be easy. I am leaving my daughter behind and that's not supposed to ever be easy."

Setting aside the " _that you two can't solve_ ," Juliet absorbed the intensity of her words and the strength of feeling behind them.

"I will not lose that number," she finally said. "I think you might give me too much credit for influence over him, but I promise I will make sure you are involved any time it seems necessary."

Marlowe sighed. "Thank you. And don't doubt your influence."

 _Better not say anything here_. She just shook her head.

Standing up, Marlowe said, "I never really knew what to make of you, you know."

Juliet rose too. "Well, I did arrest you."

She smiled. "Yeah, that's part of it. I mean about your partnership. I never doubted his feelings for me but I also knew I was never really first."

Instantly uncomfortable, Juliet started, "Oh, Marlowe, please—"

She held up her hand to stop her. "Hear me out. When I first met you both I could tell there was some tension between you. I didn't know your history or even how long you'd been partners. I only knew you were with Shawn Spencer and there was some trouble between you and Carlton. When he talked about you, when he visited me in prison, I figured out that tension was about Shawn. And I knew... I mean, I _knew_ he really cared about me, and I never thought there was anything between the two of you, but there was _something_ , you know?"

Juliet was paralyzed—there were so many ways _not_ to react to this.

"Then when I was released, and you generously took us into your home, I wasn't so lost in my own happiness that I couldn't spot the tension again. And maybe it was just because we overstayed our welcome, but..." She smiled. "I remember the day you found us in the bathtub. I saw how... unprepared you were for the sight of him in that situation. I should have been more embarrassed for myself but in the back of my head all I could think was that part of your reaction was about seeing him..." She laughed a little. "Well, naked in your tub. You had a—a _woman's_ reaction to that. He's an attractive man, and you noticed, and I noticed you noticing."

 _I hope_ he _didn't._

 _Dammit, what are you THINKING? Drop this line of thought instantly!_

 _You should smile here. Why aren't you smiling?_

Marlowe spoke more gently. "Then during the time Trout was there? Carlton demoted, and not having you as his partner: that was _so_ hard on him. He overcompensated in so many ways and tried so hard to convince himself he only wanted his job back, but he talked about you as much as he talked about Trout. I don't think he realized it."

"Marlowe," she tried again, feeling the way she did when she futilely tried to stop the flood of information she got from Ursula Gibbs about Carlton's prowess as a lover, information she'd never ever been able to completely shelve.

"Juliet, it's _okay_." Marlowe's tone was almost kind. "He was mine, and he was faithful, and he would always have been faithful. I _never_ doubted his feelings, I swear. But like I said, I knew I wasn't first. And that was never more clear to me than when he made Chief and found out you were moving to San Francisco."

Her heart thumped at the memory of that conversation between her and Carlton. The pain, mixed with joy at having him admit, in so many words, that he'd rather have her at his side than the position he thought he'd wanted all those years. Putting her arms around him and telling him it was going to be fine, when it wasn't.

Marlowe reached out and touched her shoulder. "I see it was as hard for you as it was for him. I knew it would be. And I'm sort of glad, you know, not because you were hurting but because it shows me how much he mattered to you too."

Juliet had to sit down, making it as far as the coffee table. She wrapped her arms around herself and said, "Marlowe, partnerships are so... _complicated_. Ours was more complicated than it needed to be because of Shawn—and because of Carlton too. He's a complicated man." It seemed so lame, but it was at least the truth.

"Yes, I know," she said with wry amusement.

Still she needed to _explain_ , somehow, or maybe defend, if not deny. "And I swear, there was never _anything_ —"

"It's okay," she repeated, still smiling a little. "I don't even know why I started this. I was going to walk out and go cry in my car about leaving Lilly." She looked down for a moment, then back at Juliet, adding gravely, "I just want you to know that I trust in your friendship, your partnership, your... _connection_ with Carlton. Wherever it's been and wherever it may eventually go. And I trust that you'll be another set of eyes watching over my daughter while I'm away."

Juliet squeezed herself harder. "You have my word."

Marlowe opened her arms, and Juliet felt as if she herself were the one needing comfort now, as she accepted and returned her hug.

"That's all I want."

They stood apart for a moment more, in silence, and Juliet locked the door behind her after she was gone.

She felt drained. Exposed.

Aware.

And Carlton was on her mind all night long.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

So, more new normal.

He was going to have to buy a treadmill, he knew that much. He could neither leave Lilly alone while he went out to run, nor take her to daycare, _then_ run, then go to work and expect to get in a full day, especially since he was sticking to his plan of leaving work at 5:30 to collect her again.

"First world problems," he muttered as he did plain old boring exercises in his bedroom before she woke each morning that first week. He much preferred running or jogging. It brought a sense of progress, even if he did end up back where he started.

Lilly wondered why he didn't take her "back to Mamma" on Sunday night. She might not have really understood "Sunday" yet, or even weekends, but she knew routine.

He reminded her about "Mamma's trip" and she said "Oh yeah" and dragged Mrs. Purpleface off to her room.

It probably wouldn't always go that smoothly.

She asked about her mamma again when he took her to daycare, and by Thursday evening she was a little fussy about the change.

He re-reminded her about Mamma's trip. "She'll be back," he told her. "She'll call you soon."

She frowned, but he distracted her with a story. Or ten.

It was only the first week. Things would get better, he promised himself.

Coffee bar, Friday morning. Juliet approached with her usual smile, and for a instant he felt better until she asked how things were going.

The "better" faded.

"By this time next week, she'll have filed for emancipation and gone off to look for Marlowe."

"Carlton," she laughed, "I don't think so. By this time next week, she'll be used to how things are now."

"She misses her mother." He felt a little sick, because he could do many things but he could not be both parents.

"Carlton," Juliet said gently. "She _will_ miss her mother, but she will still love you."

He still felt a little sick. "I don't even care if she loves me or not. Once she hits puberty I'll be public enemy number one anyway. I just don't want her to be upset about Marlowe."

"Um, puberty's a little way off yet. You could be over-planning."

He could hear the amusement in her tone, and yet it wasn't mockery—it was never mockery from her. Glancing at her, he reluctantly smiled. "Okay. I could be looking a _little_ too far ahead. But you know I like to be prepared."

"Yes I do," she said meaningfully, "which means I know you prepared for this, too. You knew Lilly would have a transition period, and you know it'll take as long as it takes. I'll bet you breakfast that once Marlowe calls her for the first time, she'll perk right up and tell you all about it."

Carlton looked at her more directly. "You're too wise for your own good."

"I know." She grinned. "I used to be a little girl, so I know stuff."

"You're still kind of a little girl, O'Hara."

She was unfazed. "Yeah, but now I carry a gun and kick your ass." When Brannigan passed by too closely, she added cheerfully, "That is, your _Chiefly_ ass."

He almost spit out his coffee.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The Saturday stop-ins were a regular thing now.

The first one after Marlowe left—after Marlowe's speech—Juliet wasn't sure she wanted to be home when father and child came by. She wasn't sure she wanted to look into those Mediterranean blue eyes so soon after having Marlowe describe their relationship, or least how it looked from the outside.

Between Marlowe and Karen, Juliet wasn't sure she knew a damn thing herself anymore.

Carlton was extremely important to her. But she'd never _wanted_ to explore anything more intimate than their "mere" partnership and friendship for many, many reasons, all of them logical and sensible and career-minded and cowardly because... yes. Work. Shawn. Partnership. Carlton's crankiness and all the walls he put up.

Yet she couldn't deny that after CopsWest—when she learned he was _not_ happily married—she'd had thoughts and daydreams, most of them unplanned, where she saw him in a light she could no longer point in another, safer, direction.

Wanting to not be home that first Saturday morning was more cowardice.

 _But you suppressed these feelings before, and you_ will _do it again. They didn't rule you before—they just poked at you now and then saying 'notice me notice me' and then they'd go away again—so they don't have to rule you now._

 _But Christmas... the photo... his arm around me…_

 _LISTEN to me,_ said her internal voice. _You're friends. Close friends. But that's all. He needs you a little more right now, but that's_ all _. He'll get the hang of this single-parenting thing and, in the way of all attractive newly-divorced men, will draw the attention of hordes of women at the daycare, or the doctor's office, or the playground, and he'll begin dating, and he'll live his life, and that's that. Don't screw it up for him. Or yourself_.

So the first Saturday when they came by she suggested they go to a movie Lilly would like. Less talking, less contact. Lilly sat between them and it was fine.

This Saturday, Lilly knocked on the door; Carlton was holding her up to reach the knocker.

"Juliet!" she said with a happy smile. "I found a purple rock!" With her father's arms secure around her waist, she held out her hand to show the rock.

"That is very cool!" It appeared to be a large pebble which had been splashed with lavender paint, but it wasn't Juliet's job to teach geology. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Daddy says I can keep it in my room and if Mrs, Purpleface sits on it, it might hatch!"

Carlton was startled. "No, Lilly-cat, I only said you could keep it in your room."

Lilly scrambled to get out of his grip. "But it's an egg, Daddy."

Juliet held the door open. "Come in. I was thinking about making spaghetti for lunch. Would you like that, Lilly?"

Lilly said she would, and ran into the house.

Carlton hesitated. "You know I don't expect you to feed us every time we come by. I don't even expect you to be here every time. You don't have to give us all your Saturdays."

In his expression, she saw... hell, she saw her last chance for denial slipping away.

 _Okay, so maybe you won't be suppressing those feelings right this very_ minute _._

"My Saturdays wouldn't feel right now without you two," she said simply, but couldn't look into his damnably blue eyes for fear she'd get lost there.

 _But soon. You have to suppress them soon._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

February trundled along. Carlton's worries eased about sixteen percent, no more, when Marlowe called for Lilly on the second Sunday night after she left. Lilly was thrilled and talked about nothing else for the next two days, and since Marlowe promised her—and Carlton too before he handed the phone over—she'd call every week, Lilly knew Mamma was still there even if she couldn't see her.

Didn't stop other hitches along the way, of course.

Mornings were a challenge: using his new treadmill before she woke up, getting them both ready, loading her up and dropping her off. Evenings were a challenge too: picking her up, making dinner, getting her to actually _eat_ the dinner, spending time with her as much as she was willing (some nights a lot, some nights he was definitely _way_ down the list from Mrs. Purpleface), getting her to agree to go to bed. Weekends were another challenge: shopping, laundry, cleaning while keeping her occupied and out of harm's way. It was all, every day, a challenge.

And he'd only been doing it solo for a few weeks.

It seemed too basic to complain about: sharing parenting with another adult was a lot easier than doing it single-handed.

When he thought back to the very early days of Lilly's life, when he and Marlowe were completely clueless and _inexcusably_ unprepared to take on the job of a lifetime, he couldn't believe it. He remembered with horror how they'd each (mis)handled the "practice baby"—in his case practically bragging that there was no way _he_ could screw up. What could be so hard about taking care of an infant?

"Moron," he groused aloud. "Arrogant, smackable moron."

Lilly looked up from her puzzle at the sound, and he gave her an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry, Lilly-cat. Daddy can fake it a little longer."

He could, and even knew it wasn't all faking it. He _had_ come a long way; he could say it without fear of contradiction from any living soul.

He was doing his best, and his best actually didn't suck too much, because his daughter was happy and healthy and loved, and her smiles and hugs and mere _existence_ were worth it all.

But all the same, he could also thank God for the brief respite Juliet provided on Saturday mornings.

Or any time he saw her, come to think of it.

But there was no time to think about _that_. He hoisted himself out of the chair: there was a dishwasher to empty before the Get Lilly To Bed Project began.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet spotted Brannigan by the copier and hurried over. "Moment?"

"Certainly, Juliet. Walk with me." She started back toward her desk.

"You know McNab and I need to talk to Kawally about our technology heist, right?" She waited for Brannigan's nod. "We were going to do that this afternoon. But I just got a tip that Kawally's leaving town this morning on the 11:44 train so that talk has to be now."

Brannigan glanced at her watch; it was just past nine. "And the problem is?"

"The problem is McNab's out until at least two because his wife has doctor's appointments, and as you no doubt know, policy is no one ever talks to Kawally alone."

Brannigan looked puzzled. "Actually I'm not familiar with any policy about Kawally, and I thought I had every department policy memorized."

Carlton had just walked by, but now he turned on his heel and joined them. "This one's not written down. What's going on?"

Juliet re-explained her problem and then added for Brannigan's info, "Kawally's intel is usually A-plus, but—"

"But he's a whackaloon of the highest order," Carlton finished with a frown. "He tries to wrestle every cop he talks to, and he's also six-seven and weighs about four hundred pounds, so we always send two officers out, no exceptions."

"Wrestle as in...?"

"He broke Flaherty's ribs four years ago." Focusing his blue-steel gaze on Juliet, he went on, "So yeah, you need someone with you."

"I can pull someone from patrol," Brannigan offered. "I'd go myself but I have to be in court at ten."

"I'll do it. Just give me five minutes." He started off.

They followed, with Brannigan protesting. "Chief, I'm sure we can find another officer—"

"No need. I am blessedly meeting-free until after lunch, and it's my job to fill in when there's no one else. O'Hara, bring the car around and I'll meet you in—" He checked the time. "Four and a half minutes."

"Yes, Chief!" She was off, and suppressed a smile at the idea of working with him even briefly, and hoped Brannigan's reluctance had more to do with the notion of sheltering her Chief than keeping the two of them apart.

Four minutes later, he slid his lanky self into the passenger seat and buckled up. "I hope you appreciate the luxury of being _allowed_ to drive."

Juliet laughed. "Buzz lets me drive all the time."

"Wuss," he muttered.

"Oh, relax. Just pretend you're being chauffeured, _Chief_."

Carlton laughed. "I like it. Bring me up to speed on this case."

"Okay. Kawally supposedly has an inside scoop on the box store tech heist two weeks ago, and we set up a meeting for today at three. But I got a tip that he's leaving town this morning. We already suspected he might be in on the gig, and if he's running now—"

"Then he's most _definitely_ in on the gig and doesn't even want to stick around for the usual wrestling challenge. Got it. You trust the tip?"

"Yeah. I heard he's been running his mouth lately about his connections, and he's losing friends all over the place."

"And why do you think he was involved in the original heist?"

"Just a hunch mostly. He's been spending money more extravagantly in the past two weeks and it was harder than usual to get him to agree to meet with us."

"Hunches are fine by me."

"Anyway, let's check his house first before we go to the train station."

"Fleeing by train," he scoffed. "How melodramatic is that?" Before she could answer, he cursed at a non-signalling lane-changer.

Juliet smiled. It was _good_ to work with her partner again.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Kawally lived in a one-story bungalow which he kept up pretty well, considering that he seldom worked and most of his income was from disreputable sources. The lawn was trimmed, the windows shone, and there were even flowerpots along the front steps.

Juliet parked directly in front of the house; if Kawally went out the back his size would make him pretty easy to spot, and Carlton could run a lot faster than most every thief he knew.

He let her rap on the door, standing to one side.

It was a tossup whether the greater surprise was Kawally opening it himself, or opening it while wearing what appeared to be an ensemble stolen from some very large member of a barbershop quartet.

"Detective O'Hara," he said with a generous smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you this morning, was I?"

She smiled back sweetly. "I'm sure you weren't, but once I heard you were heading out by train, I decided I had to come say goodbye in person."

Kawally finally noticed—and recognized—Carlton, and his dark eyes went wide. "Detective... well it's Chief now, isn't it? It's memory lane! Why, I still remember the first time you two ruined a perfectly good day."

"As I recall, it was our pleasure," Carlton assured him.

Kawally blinked. To Juliet, he said, "But heading out? I really don't know what you mean."

"No? That surprises me."

The man only smiled benignly.

"You want to invite us in?" Carlton inquired. "Or you want to talk to the Chief of Police out on your front porch?"

"Truth be told I don't want to do either, but you might as well come in." He backed up, but blocked them from going beyond the small foyer.

Carlton closed the door and surveyed the man's bulk. Still impressive, but there wasn't much room to move here, so short of suffocating them, he was probably no particular danger at the moment.

"Not going to offer us a seat?"

"You won't be here that long, will you?" The smile was still in place, but lacked sincerity.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Juliet asked.

"It's a style choice, my dear." Kawally adjusted his lapels. "I am a Renaissance man."

"Uh-huh. You know, O'Hara," Carlton mused, "maybe he's _not_ fleeing. Dressed like he's looking for the other three singers _and_ the lyrics, and being approximately the size of a Land Rover, he'd be kind of conspicuous at the train station, wouldn't he?"

Kawally glared at him.

Juliet moved suddenly and made it through a tiny gap between him and the door he was blocking, and Carlton had his gun out before Kawally could take one step to stop her.

"I've got luggage!" she called back, and Carlton grinned at Kawally. "Train tickets on top."

She eased past Kawally again, her own weapon drawn.

The man sighed. "You're going to make me ruin my suit, aren't you?"

"O'Hara, call for backup."

 _And that's when the fight started._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

By the time it was over, the front door was broken, the flowerpots askew, Kawally's suit was _definitely_ ruined, and the neighbors had gotten an eyeful. Some were still taking photos.

Carlton had a bruised jaw, Juliet had a cut above her eyebrow, and the backup patrol officers were trying unsuccessfully to stuff Kawally in the back of the cruiser.

She looked over at him, where he sat on an overturned flowerpot, and couldn't help it: she laughed.

He rubbed his face carefully, scowling at her sitting cross-legged in the grass.

In a low voice, so the nearest officers couldn't hear, she said, "I have missed you so much, partner."

His scowl was replaced by an immediate smile, and his crystal blue eyes brightened. "Roger that."

"There has to be a way to do this again."

Carlton raised one dark brow, surveying the wreckage around them. "All of it?"

"Maybe not _all_ of it." She dabbed at her forehead, still amused. "But most of it."

He got to his feet carefully and held out a warm strong hand to pull her up too. "I'm open to suggestions."

Juliet wished she had some. "Maybe if McNab takes extended leave when the baby comes, you'll have no choice but to work with me."

"Forced to work with my former partner," he said, with just a hint of a lurking smirk.

"Horrible, isn't it."

" _Ghastly_." They both turned to look at Kawally's house. "So ghastly in fact that I think we need to personally search this place, room by room, together, until we find whatever the hell it is we need to find to keep Kawally locked up."

"That sounds _unbearably_ dreadful," Juliet agreed. "First one to find evidence wins a venti from Starbucks?"

He high-fived her.

Best day she'd never expected to have.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Henry Spencer leaned against Carlton's office door, looking much too comfortable and in fact a little smug. "I gotta say, Lassiter, even after all these years, it still startles me to find _you_ sitting in that chair."

Carlton scowled. "I don't see your visitor pass, Spencer."

Henry waved it at him, chuckling. "I didn't say it was a bad thing. You seem to be holding the city together well enough."

"Sit down already. I'm a busy man." He checked his watch. "I'm out of here in thirteen minutes to pick up Lilly."

Taking the nearest chair, Henry checked his watch too. "How's that going, by the way?" He seemed sympathetic, and since he was a straightforward kind of man, the sympathy was most likely real.

Carlton ran his hand through his hair. "Tiring. I might be too old to do this."

"Too bad if you are. Shawn was already in his teens when Maddie split, so a lot of things I didn't have to worry about—like whether he could dress or feed himself or be left alone too long. You know. On the other hand, it was Shawn." Henry grimaced. "You met him when he was nearly thirty. Imagine him as an adolescent."

"So not much different, then." He couldn't help but smirk, and Henry just shrugged. "Why are you here?"

"Well, Chief Lassiter, I would like to invite you to speak to my class about profiling."

For a second he thought it was a joke. "Come again?" He'd spoken at other events but the idea of _Henry Spencer_ asking him didn't seem right.

"You know I teach a class every semester at the college. This year I want to focus on profiling, and as I recall, that was one of the things you were damned good at once upon a time."

Carlton glared at him. "Once upon a... this _morning_ , you mean? When my ample profiling experience allowed me to correctly predict both that Lilly would throw a fit about her previously favorite cereal _and_ that the barista at Starbucks would miscount my change and then give me attitude about it?"

Laughing, Henry nodded. "Yeah. Like that. I need you to talk for forty-five minutes about some of your _police_ -rated experiences, how you learned what you learned, and how you applied those skills on the job." He stood up. "Three, four weeks from now. You in?"

"Send me more details. I could be in. Depends on the timing."

"Fair enough," he agreed. "Okay, I'll be in touch."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Henry strolled out of Carlton's office and came over to Juliet's desk. "Hey, kid. How's life in the ranks?"

She smiled up at him. "It's good. It's better than good."

"Saw you and Lassiter on TV a week or so ago. Looked like you took a hit from our old friend Kawally."

"I held my own," she said with pride. Her cut had healed and Carlton's jaw bruise had faded, and Brannigan had almost gotten over the horror of having missed it all. " _And_ we put the big creep in jail."

"For now." He grinned. "Kawally always gets out."

"I know, but there's no need to bring me down, unless that's why you came in." She gave him an innocent smile.

"Not this time. Today I'm here to solicit." He grinned. "Trying to line your Chief up for a speaking gig."

"Oooh. Not about squirrels, is it?"

"Not as long as I live, kid." He waved and headed out, and two minutes later, Carlton came out of his office and straight for Juliet.

He was distracted and unsettled. "Hey. You still up for babysitting?" Then he looked annoyed with himself. "Never mind. Not enough notice." He turned away.

"Carlton, hold up!"

He looked back at her. "What?"

"Uh, could you give me a _chance_? If it's tonight, yes, I'm free. And I've been here for months waiting for my turn at bat."

A reluctant smile curved his mouth. "Okay yeah, it's tonight. I just got a call from the Mayor's office. He's cooked up this monthly meeting of city department heads and I thought it started next month, but someone butchered my email address for the first meeting and they just noticed I hadn't RSVPed. I tried to get out of it but was told my presence was mandatory." The smile had long gone and he was merely vexed now.

But Juliet kind of liked his vexed look: it always amped up the vivid blue of his eyes. "Well, I can help. She needs to be picked up, right? Where—"

"Oh—my house." He dug in his pockets while she was puzzling over this answer, and thrust his house key at her. "I've been meaning to give you a spare anyway." He started off again.

"Carlton, wait!" She was beyond confused. "She's at your house?"

He blinked. "No, she's at the daycare. _Take_ her to my house. I mean if you don't mind. All her stuff's there and you'll be able to give her dinner. I gotta—hang on." Now he was digging in his pocket again, and this time he handed her his car remote. "Take that."

"This is your—"

"And I'll need yours. Or I can get a patrol car to take me home. But it'll be easier if I can just bring you your car." He finally seemed to realize she was frowning at him. "You don't have a carseat."

Juliet took the remote, processing all this, but his hand remained outstretched.

"Your car key," he prompted.

"Oh! Hang on." She got it out of her desk and as soon as he had it, he once again started away. "Wait wait wait!"

He nodded, still moving. "I'll call the daycare and let them know you're picking her up. I'll even send them your photo."

"Carlton Lassiter," she exclaimed with exasperation, and this stilled his forward motion. "I still need to know—"

He threw his hands up in the air. "I have no idea! An hour or two? I hate this last-minute vague crap. I think he wants to talk about a five-year plan or community relations or maybe some pie-in-the-sky budget control dreams."

She took a breath. "Carlton. _Where is the_ _daycare_?"

His eyes widened, and after a moment of silence, he laughed. "Yeah, that would help, wouldn't it? Maybe I'm the one who needs a sitter."

"The Mayor's available. Now according to the clock I need to leave right now, so... address?"

He gave it, and for a moment she marveled at what she now held: his house key, his car key, his daughter's location—and his absolute trust that she was up to the job.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

"College graduate," she muttered. "Top DET exam score," she muttered. "Ran the Frisco PD detective squad," she muttered. "Half a decade with Shawn Spencer," she muttered. "Ten _years_ with Carlton Lassiter."

"Daddy?"

"Need some help?" someone inquired from behind her.

Juliet nearly banged her head extricating herself from the car. Lilly was hugging Mrs. Purpleface and waiting for her to master the fine art of carseat-ology. "Yes!"

The daycare lady stepped in and showed her how to secure Lilly, and then kissed Lilly on the forehead. "It's never easy the first fifty times."

"That's encouraging. But thanks." She meant it too. She'd spent the last ten minutes on this seemingly simple task, her self-esteem slipping away with each fail.

Lilly had been pleased to see her, then confused, but Juliet promised her they were going home and Daddy would be there soon.

Once in the car—telling herself to remember to readjust the seat and mirrors for her long-legged friend—she let Lilly do the chattering, and counted herself lucky that getting her out of the carseat proved much simpler—only _six_ minutes.

Lilly went up the back steps and waited for Juliet to fish out the key and unlock the door, announcing that she was hungry and wanted a hamburger.

"Well, let's see what Daddy _wants_ you to have." She turned on the kitchen light and had a look in the fridge.

"I want a hamburger."

"I don't see any in here, kiddo. I see lunchmeat and veggies and milk and—"

"Milk!" She hopped up and down and Juliet laughed at how freaking cute she was. "And hamburger."

"Milk first." She found Lilly's favorite cup in the dish drainer and got her situated at the table. "Now, how about—"

"Hamburger!"

Juliet went back to the fridge. She spotted eggs and a container with leftover pasta, each of which suggestion Lilly rejected. Frozen chicken nuggets—no. Cereal—no. Peanut butter— _maybe_ , then no. Slice of cheese—okay but just one, of which she ate half before drinking the rest of the milk, asking for more and resuming the campaign for a hamburger.

No ground beef in sight. Not even ground turkey.

More milk. Another half-slice of cheese. No to the apple. No to the banana. One grape, contemplated another, then no.

Juliet texted Carlton, Mayor be damned.

 _What do I feed this girl? She wants a burger._

 _Me too. Tell her the chicken nuggets are chickenburgers, add cheese, call the grapes grapeburgers._

Huh. She tried it, and it worked. Lilly, satisfied with the re-branding of previously rejected menu items, meandered through her meal while Juliet made tea and a sandwich for herself.

"Where's Daddy?"

"He'll be here soon, honey. Before bedtime." Then she wondered when bedtime was.

Lilly remained in a good mood until she wasn't, and "the turn" came suddenly. She started asking about her Mamma—so Juliet told her the same thing she knew Carlton did: that she would call her this weekend.

She asked about her Daddy and Juliet repeated, "He'll be home soon, sweetie, I promise."

She whined. She fussed. She glared, and damn, did she look like Carlton then; it was almost comical except that it really wouldn't do for Juliet to tell _her_ to shut it.

During the tempest, Mrs. Purpleface took a bit of a thrashing, and when Juliet tried again to calm her down, Lilly took off running throughout the house.

Juliet knew she had to follow (all good cops run toward trouble), and after a few minutes, Lilly's mood turned again, because now she had a _game_ going: be chased by Juliet.

Easier to oblige in this case, and as it happened, Juliet's mood improved too, because hell, how often did _she_ get to just play?

Lilly ran into Carlton's bedroom and jumped on the bed, giggling.

Juliet followed her in, declaring "I've got you now!" and before thinking it through, flopped down next to the little girl.

On Carlton's bed.

Her face near enough his pillow to pick up his scent.

 _Ohhh..._

Lilly wanted to jump up and down; Juliet wanted to just lie there and absorb... _him_.

She spoke absently to Lilly, letting her play, while she looked around the room. He'd shared it with Marlowe for several years, but traces of her were fairly minimal; presumably she'd removed her own belongings when she vacated.

On one wall there was a large framed photograph, more like a poster, of a serene blue mountain lake. She couldn't imagine him buying it, but she could imagine him liking it and the peace it represented.

The treadmill—the new one he'd told her about (and groused about having trouble putting together)—was set up in the corner, angled toward the front window. He might be able to see the ocean from there, through the trees.

Closet door slightly ajar; dark blue robe hanging from a hook. It looked soft and warm and she stopped imagining him in it.

A bookcase on another wall held crime books, Civil War histories, assorted biographies and on the lower shelf, a haphazard selection of children's stories.

On the top sat several small framed photos: one of Carlton with Marlowe and Lilly, one of his mother and Althea. His sister Lauren. Another of Lilly as a toddler.

And one of him with Juliet _: from Christmas_. Close together, smiling for the camera, lit by the twinkling lights.

Juliet drew in a breath, goosebumps flickering along her skin.

 _Stop it. It's just a nice photo in a set of nice photos about key people in his life, and you already knew you were a key person in his life so there's_ no _special significance to that photo._

 _Yeah, and you're lying on his frickin' BED feeling shivery._

She sat up, cheeks warmer than they should be. "Come on, Lilly. We need to go have a cookie."

And maybe a shot of whiskey: there had to be some around here somewhere.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton got home after eight, parking Juliet's car and thinking he might consider Mazdas when it was time to ditch the Fusion. He was tired and hungry and missing his girls.

 _Yeah, both of them._

Brushing that thought away, he rapped on the back door, and Juliet came to let him in. He had texted her as he was leaving the meeting so he already knew Lilly was rarin' for him to be home.

"Hi," she said, and her wide smile made him feel better. "You survived."

"So did you. Hold that thought." He moved past her swiftly to secure his service weapon in the gun safe (tucked in a cabinet next to the flour and sugar), and when he turned around again, Lilly was running in from the living room.

Juliet wisely stepped out of the way as Lilly barreled at him with a cry of "Daddy!"

"Hey, Lilly-cat!" He squeezed her hard and set her up on the kitchen counter. "Were you a good girl for Juliet?"

"Yes..." She didn't sound as if she was sure he'd believe her, and in fact he didn't.

He pressed, " _Really_?"

Juliet shrugged. "She was pretty good _most_ of the time."

"Yeah, Daddy, most of the time." She hugged him again as if she knew that would seal the deal, and he grinned at Juliet.

"So you were bad for a _while_."

"No...?"

"You want something to eat?" Juliet asked, highly amused by this interchange. "I happen to know where every single food item is located in this kitchen."

"Meaning she rejected everything you offered. Sounds familiar."

"I had grapeburgers!"

He lifted her off the counter and set her on the floor. "And chickenburgers too, right?"

"Yes! Can I have a cookie?"

"She's already had two. In case you keep count."

"I do, and it's also getting close to bedtime for little girls." At this, Lilly protested, but he was unfazed: nearly two hours of city officials waxing poetic about their community visions had inured him to the pleadings of a child, even his own flesh and blood.

"Daddy!" she said, quite disconsolate.

He surveyed Juliet, who was leaning against the opposite counter. Her hair was a bit tousled, as if she might have been trying not to tear it out earlier, and her blouse a bit rumpled, but it was hard to stay tidy with a rambunctious child around. She was still smiling and she seemed comfortable, and for one clear moment he thought she was the loveliest woman he'd ever known.

 _And if things were different..._

"I can make you a sandwich," she suggested. "while you get her ready for bed."

"I accept your offer. Back soon. Ignore the screams."

While she laughed, he hoisted Lilly—half-protesting—into his arms and carried her off against her will, but she was giggling by the time he got her upstairs.

"Did you have a good time with Juliet?" He ushered her into the bathroom.

She nodded, more interested in playing with the toothpaste. "We played hide go seek."

"Where did you hide?" He only half-listened to the litany of places she'd _masterfully_ concealed herself until she finished with "Your room!" and followed it up by dropping the toothbrush paste-side down.

"My room?" He bent to retrieve the brush and wipe up the toothpaste.

"We jumped on your bed!"

Somehow he doubted _both_ of them had jumped, but the idea of Juliet in his bedroom or anywhere near his bed was undeniably... _interesting_.

Interesting enough that he stood up too fast and hit Lilly's elbow on the way. She lost her balance and he caught her before she tumbled, but now she was fussy and it took awhile to get her to return to the task of teeth-brushing.

By the time he got her changed and tucked in and was sure she _might_ actually be on the way to sleep, he'd half... two-thirds... at least one-quarter forgotten the image of Juliet in his bedroom.

It all came back when he returned to the kitchen, where she had a sandwich ready for him, along with a smile, and her attention was on him, and dammit.

 _Dammit._

He had to look away from her inquisitive dark blue gaze. He couldn't have her seeing that he'd just admitted to himself that it had always been her. Always.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 _You can't do this now_ , he told himself later that night, in bed, staring up at a ceiling he couldn't see.

 _No, there's no point in denying the feelings. You've had them a long time._

They were suppressed, shelved, hidden, obediently locked away relatively successfully for years. During his time with Marlowe, he'd convinced himself that what he had with Juliet was friendship only, and given their lack of regular contact—combined with the rather full life he had as new Chief, new husband and new parent—even that had lost some of its power over him.

But in the time she'd been back—no. Revise. In the time since he'd first hugged her over in Palm Springs: looked into her eyes and felt her warmth and drank in her scent and hugged her hard—the jig was up.

 _You can't DO this now. You can't even_ trust _this now._

 _You're barely divorced. You're still working out the kinks of this single-parenting thing. You do not have time to invest in pining after Juliet._

Not again. Never again.

 _You are friends. Friends. Only friends._

He rolled over, restless and annoyed with himself.

Juliet had talked to him while he ate, asking about the meeting and telling him about some of the time-wasting city government activities up in Frisco. She'd seemed relaxed and happy to be there, she hadn't seemed to be concealing any secret need to thwop Lilly, and just sitting across from him she radiated her usual golden glow and was simply... perfect.

He gathered himself enough to tell her Lilly's birthday was coming up on March 11. He was going to have cake and treats for her at home and Juliet was invited if she was free, but he warned her his mother and Althea would also be in attendance.

"I like Althea," she said with a laugh.

"That's what everyone says when I mention the two of them together. They like _Althea_." He smirked. "Mom is damned lucky to have her."

"I notice," Juliet said carefully, "that you don't seem to see them much."

"No. It sounds harsh but I just don't want my mother around Lilly."

"That does sound a _little_ harsh," she admitted. "But I guess I understand." She should; he knew the few things he'd said about his mother over the years had probably painted a clear picture.

He explained anyway. "She's too negative. Too critical. She's me at my worst, times fifty. Althea's a great lady but she can't take all the edge off. So if I need a babysitter and you're not available, I'll be calling Beth or Henry Spencer before I call them. Or Brannigan. Probably not Woody. But maybe." He wasn't even uncomfortable saying it because it was true.

Juliet smiled at the last part. "I imagine she gave Marlowe a hard time."

Carlton rolled his eyes. "What, you think my mother had a problem with my ex-con wife? That's like asking me if I want to adopt forty squirrels and a vegan."

She laughed. "I get the idea."

"Marlowe took the abuse for a couple of visits—with me yelling at Mom the whole time—and then told me she was done. Said she'd rather go back in solitary than be around her." Rubbing his face, he added, "So that was it. I call her and I send her photos of Lilly, but that's it. This'll be the first time she's seen Lilly in a year, and Althea swears she'll make her behave."

"I will definitely be there to referee," Juliet declared. "Will she be in a better mood now that you're divorced?"

" _Hell_ no. Because now she can go into 'I told you so' mode."

She looked sympathetic. "I'm so sorry. But I'm also glad you're... doing what's best for your daughter. Again. And that you did it for Marlowe too. It'd be nice if in-laws and grandparents were always sweet and kind but sometimes people are just..."

"Jerks," he supplied.

"Yeah. That's about right."

"Well, my mom's a jerk. At least to her kids and anyone I married. I'm not exposing Lilly to her true nature until I think she's ready for it." Which would probably be never.

Juliet patted his hand, warming him, and told him he looked tired and it was probably time for her to let him get some rest.

First he gave her his spare house key. They'd had each other's spares when they were partnered, and there was still no one he trusted more. She promised to give him a spare to her place, and he detected no sense of obligation therein.

He walked her out to her car, thanking her again for coming to his rescue; she threatened to pistol-whip him.

And just before she got into her car, she stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, close and warm and soft and fragrant. "Goodnight, Carlton. Please sleep well."

Right. Like that was ever going to freaking happen _now_.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

All the things she should have done to 'nip this in the bud' were fairly simple; she could tick them off quite easily.

—Don't spend time alone with him.  
—Don't text him at night or respond too quickly to his texts.  
—Don't get up for coffee every time you see him head that way.  
—Don't agree to meet him for coffee in the mornings before work.  
—Don't always be home when he and Lilly come by.  
—Just be a friend.  
—Don't kiss him on the cheek under the moonlight again.  
—And start finding other men to date.

Juliet stared at her scissors, which she was supposed to be using to wrap Lilly's birthday present.

So far, she sucked. Because instead of following any of those simple rules, she found herself getting ever closer to Carlton.

—Since her babysitting gig, they were texting longer each night, and sometimes, when a story got too complicated for keying, one would call the other and they'd talk for half an hour.  
—There was practically a path worn in the floor between her desk and the coffee bar.  
—The baristas at their coffee shop started greeting them by name.  
—Wendy asked her to brunch Saturday and she turned her down, because she didn't want to miss her time with Carlton and Lilly.  
—As for other men? Pah.

"This isn't good," she mumbled. "It certainly isn't smart."

Why was this happening to her now? Or... again, with greater intensity? And could she have picked a more complicated scenario than to fall for her boss?

Granted, he wasn't her direct supervisor, and there was certainly nothing anyone could say about their visible relationship at work except maybe they drank too much coffee at the same time.

 _You're not in a relationship_ , her logical brain hissed at her. _You're just friends_. _Wrap the damned gift_.

She wrapped the damned gift, a set of princess and fairy puzzles suitable for four-year-olds. She'd also bought a little tiara, and smiled as she imagined Lilly wearing it.

March was starting to show signs of spring, and the three blocks down to Carlton's house was a brisk and pleasant few minutes' walk. She was a little nervous about how it would go with Mona Lassiter, given what she knew of the woman.

She'd seemed pleasant-ish enough—or neutral-ish, anyway—at Carlton's wedding, but didn't mingle much with the others, and Juliet hadn't spent any time with her before the debacle of figuring out Shawn's big lie. Carlton had seemed proud to escort both Mona and Althea to their seats, but that was a pretty full day for him and he'd been bursting with hope and optimism, which was contagious.

Maybe she'd just contained her legendary nastiness for one afternoon. Miracles happened all the time.

Carlton had told her to let herself in, so she did, calling out his name and Lilly's when she stepped into his kitchen, setting the gift bag by the door.

Lilly ran in, pointing excitedly to the strawberry cake on the countertop. Juliet knew Carlton had baked it himself, and was proud for him. The icing featured Lilly's name and the number four, and Lilly jumped around exclaiming it was her birthday until Juliet scooped her up for a hug.

Lilly was still giggling when Carlton came in, and his smile at the sight of them made Juliet's heart do some funny skippy things. He was exceptionally attractive today, in a cobalt blue pullover and his dark jeans, and his eyes, as ever, seemed lit from within.

 _You have to look away now_ , warned her inner Sensible Girl.

"The cake looks wonderful," she said, and Lilly concurred.

"We're having ice cream too!" She wriggled out of Juliet's grasp just as the front doorbell chimed.

Juliet and Carlton exchanged a look, and he went to let in the guests.

Taking Lilly's hand, Juliet suggested they go say hello to her grandmother and Althea, and when they stepped into the living room, Mona was already settling into the overstuffed chair.

"Hello, Mrs. Lassiter."

Mona eyed her suspiciously.

Althea gave a light hug to Juliet and a bigger one to Lilly—who didn't seem to mind, but then it was impossible not to like Althea—praising her dark curly hair and big blue eyes. Lilly smiled up at her, shy but unafraid.

"Who are you?" Mona barked, otherwise ignoring son and granddaughter.

"Juliet O'Hara." She stepped forward to offer her hand, and Mona took it reluctantly. "I was partnered with Carlton for years before I moved up to San Francisco, but now I'm back at the SBPD."

"I don't remember you." She was still half-glaring at her, and beside Juliet, Carlton sighed.

"Well, it's been a while. We haven't met since Carlton's wedding."

"Wedding," she scoffed. "If you call that legit. No son of mine should have married a woman fresh out of prison."

 _Oh, you_ bitch, Juliet thought. _Not even two minutes and you're already at him_.

Carlton interrupted. "Mother, that's _already_ enough."

She turned her glare to him. "Well, isn't it true? You married an ex-con and she abandoned you and ran off to God knows where. Now you've got _this_ blondie around, and for all you know she's just another—"

"Stop it," he cut in sharply. "I thought you came here for your granddaughter's birthday."

"Mona, please." Althea fluttered nearby, glancing between Lilly—who was now clutching Carlton's leg—and Mona.

" _Granddaughter_." Disdain dripped from each syllable. "If she's even _yours_ , you mean."

Silence overtook the room, but blood was pounding in Juliet's ears, and everyone was lucky she didn't know the combination to Carlton's gun safe.

Carlton looked at Juliet, jaw clenched and blue eyes ablaze. "Would you please take Lilly back to the kitchen?"

Juliet tugged Lilly away from him, noting the little girl's unease. She knew Lilly couldn't really grasp the specifics of what was being said, but she certainly registered anger and upset.

"Come on, sweetie, let's go get the ice cream out."

Lilly stopped resisting, but once they were in the other room—where Juliet could still hear the other voices perfectly well—she did something a touch self-serving: she told Lilly, "Why don't you go upstairs and look for Mrs. Purpleface? She needs some birthday cake too."

Lilly went off like a shot, and Juliet returned to the doorway. She let herself be seen: Carlton might not want it, but she had an urge to show Mona that Carlton did not stand alone.

Mona had just snapped something about not letting him talk to her like that.

Carlton said coldly, "This is my house. You're no longer welcome in it."

"You can't throw me out. I'm your _mother_. I have—"

"You have nothing. Nothing but a cold heart and a sharp tongue." He was ice. "Lilly and Juliet _and_ Marlowe are the most important people in my life." As if saying her name made him sense her, he turned and met Juliet's gaze briefly—and nodded.

She felt accepted, trusted... _needed_.

To his mother, with a gesture toward Juliet, he added, "If it weren't for _her_ influence, I'd never have been able to turn into the kind of man Marlowe could love. I owe the three of them _everything_." Another glance at Juliet, and he finished quietly, "And I owe her most of all."

Juliet suppressed a shiver at his tone. Her heart was doing those funny skippy things again.

"Carlton, honey," Althea tried. "You know your mother—"

He shook his head. "You're too good for her, Althea. She's blessed to have you." He strode to the door and opened it wide. "But get out, Ma. I'm not going to say you can't see Lilly anymore, but I am going to stop you from seeing her until she's old enough to understand how awful you are. I'm not going to let that hate into her life, and I'll no longer tolerate it in mine."

Juliet heard Lilly coming down the stairs, and went to meet her. She didn't need to hear any more, and Lilly didn't need to hear it at all.

Still, the *smack* of the front door closing hard was impressive.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton took a moment to settle himself down, doing an internal survey of his state of mind.

Regrets? None.

 _None._

At least it had been quick. He glanced at his watch: under five minutes for the showdown of a frickin' lifetime.

He thought, when he went off on her during his marriage, that the warning would take. He'd hoped she'd be able to just come enjoy her grandchild and keep her own private misguided bitterness to herself. Just one time. Just _once_.

But when she started—all barrels loaded, all fired simultaneously—he knew there could be no real cease-fire in her world. And at this point in his life, _Lilly's_ world was far and away more important to him than Mona Lassiter's.

Next month he would turn fifty. He'd given up on any kind of positive relationship with his mother decades ago, but he'd kept the connection alive because that's what adults were supposed to do, right? Preserve family connections?

Not anymore. Prune the bad to grow the healthy. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

He heard Lilly's laughter from the kitchen—thank _God_ for Juliet. Heading into the kitchen, he stopped to watch the two of them; Juliet was scooping out ice cream and already had the candles in the cake, and Lilly was happy and excited again.

Juliet looked over her shoulder at him and smiled reassuringly. "Lilly invited Mrs. Purpleface to the party."

Indeed, the unicorn lady was positioned on the counter near the cake, and he understood Juliet was really telling him she'd sent Lilly out of earshot during the fracas.

"Very good," he managed. "We can't have any party without her."

He suddenly felt a little unsteady—he'd just thrown his mother out of his life, probably forever—and when he picked up the matchbook to light the candles, he needed several tries to make it work.

Juliet stood beside him and he felt her hand on his back, rubbing gently.

"It's okay," she whispered. "You did the right thing."

With that, he found his reserve, lit the candles, and resumed being both Lilly's protector and the luckiest man in the world to have Juliet as _his_ protector.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

That night, Juliet texted Carlton to tell him again how good the cake was, and that the third of it he'd sent home with her would not go to waste. She did _not_ text that the hug he'd given her when she left, one she was not expecting and wished she could have more of, was better than the cake and ice cream combined.

It was his way of thanking her, she knew, more than the audible thanks he murmured against her hair.

She tore her attention from the memory of that hug, and focused on her phone display.

 _What, no praise for the ice cream?_

 _Only if you churned it yourself, slacker._

 _Picky._

 _Yes I am. Did Marlowe call?_

He'd told her Marlowe never failed to call on Sunday evenings, and that today she'd planned a Skype session so Lilly could _see_ her as a birthday present—a present for Marlowe too.

 _Yes. Lilly was thrilled. I had to give her some whiskey later to get her to go to bed._

She laughed and sent back: _Liar. Where's M this week?_

 _South Dakota, rambling through Deadwood country._

She knew he and Marlowe didn't talk on their own for more than a few minutes each Sunday; she let him know where she was, and then he turned the phone over to Lilly and later translated her happy repetitions into some sense of what Marlowe was doing and seeing.

She was typing out a comment about wanting to travel that area herself when he sent another text.

 _I meant what I said to Ma about you, you know. Thanks for being there today, and here right now, and for all the years leading up to this._

Juliet's breath caught, and her fingers were shaking a little.

 _I would not do anything differently._

 _:-)_

 _BFFs. Never doubt that._

 _I never will._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton looked at Lilly.

She looked back at him, her big blue eyes solemn.

"Well, Lilly-cat, it was only a matter of time."

She nodded, whether it made any sense to her or not, and promptly threw up again.

One of the ways he'd been lucky since the divorce was that she hadn't been sick on a weekday, and even her weekend upsets had been short-lived.

This was a big one. The daycare ladies had warned him when he picked her up Tuesday night that a bug seemed to be working its way through their clientele, and voila, it was certainly working its way through _Lilly_.

He cleaned her up and put her back to bed clutching Mrs. Purpleface, called the station, texted Brannigan and then out of a habit he was getting much too comfortable with, texted Juliet.

 _More coffee for you today. Lilly's sick so I'm out._

She was probably already on her way to work. But she answered quickly: _Is it that bug you heard about?_

 _Seems like. Fever, the big V, you name it._

:-( _Do you need anything?_

He did a mental inventory of his household supplies.

 _Just the will to go on._

 _LOL. I'll come by at lunch and check on you both, OK?_

 _You don't have to_ , he sent, but knew she would even before she sent back a frowny-face.

It was odd to have a quiet morning like this. Lilly slept fitfully, and when she was awake and not hurling, she wanted to be held, which was fine by him. He checked in with the station once or twice, but honestly, stats could wait and meetings could be rescheduled and reports could be read later. It was all nothing in comparison to his sick little girl.

He himself was dozing, Lilly cradled against his chest, when Juliet came in. She had slipped into the house without him hearing her, and put her warm hand on his forehead as he was fully registering her presence.

 _Holy gentlest of touches, Batman..._ he was awake, yes.

"Hey there, Dad," she said with a smile. "Just checking that you're not sick too. I've never seen you nap when you weren't on a stakeout."

He rubbed his eyes and collected himself while she sat next to him and brushed Lilly's hair back. "Didn't you tell me I slept sitting up at Jim's retirement party?"

"Jim who?" She cooed at Lilly, who blinked sleepily and then turned to climb into Juliet's embrace. "Hi, sweetie; are you feeling better?"

Lilly mumbled no, snuggling against her, and Carlton had trouble finding words for a minute at the sight of Juliet holding his daughter so lovingly.

 _God, please don't let me just melt at this woman's feet. Please._

"So." He cleared his throat. "How's the station?"

"Station-y. Buzz is inviting everyone to Francie's baby shower. You have to go, you know."

"If I do, you do. When is it?"

"April 1." She grinned. "No joke. He said he hoped you could come, and when I said you might need a sitter he promised me there'd be other kids."

 _So we can both go_ , he thought but didn't say aloud. "Okay. She'll like that. What... are they registered anywhere, and why does it bother me that I know enough to ask that question?"

Juliet only laughed. "It means you're a real boy now, that's all. Yes, they're registered; I'll send you a list later. I brought some chicken soup, by the way, from Dino's. Figured you might eat it even if she doesn't." She was rocking Lilly gently, seemingly perfectly at ease, and he was about to lose it.

He got to his feet with effort— _he'd_ better not be getting sick—and some sort of words came out of his mouth indicating he was going to check it out, and once he was in the kitchen he chastised himself thoroughly for being a moron.

 _We had this talk already, idiot. You cannot be feeling this way about her. Get it under control._

 _Or, you know, try to fake it._

She stayed for lunch; Lilly had a little soup and kept it down and a little more medicine and kept that down too, and he and Juliet also had soup and some quiet conversation, and she kissed Lilly's forehead when she left, and touched Carlton's face one more time to tease him about checking for a fever.

 _Touch me again and I'll burn up completely_ , he thought, locking the door behind her.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

On her way back to the station, Juliet kept reliving the sensations...

His warm skin under her fingertips.

The startled, pleased blue of his eyes when he realized who was touching him.

How it felt to have Lilly cuddle up to her at a time when she was sick and miserable: to have the girl's complete trust, along with Carlton's.

How it felt then to hold Lilly while looking at her father, feeling so completely as if she belonged with them—that they were _hers_ , and she was _theirs_.

How she could not resist touching his face before she left; how she _could not resist_.

And wondering when he was going to catch on that she was a goner for him.

...and whether he would think that was good or bad.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 _A/N re birth dates: the vanished TheRealAlyshebaFan wrote a wonderfully funny Lassiet story years ago called "Just Another Day" which uses February 22 as his birthdate based on the S1 episode "Poker?" (etc.) where Juliet attempts the surprise party, but I went with the_ psych _wiki showing April 11, which in turn is based on the S2 episode "Meat Is Murder" (etc.) where Shawn writes horoscopes for everyone and Lassiter is identified as an Aries. Also, it fits better with my timeline. So it's all about me, as usual. (P.S. I chose Lilly's birth month based on the air dates of the Lassiter wedding episode and her birth episode.)_

 _A/N, aka plug for my faithful **iknowuknow** , who has written a sequel to a long-ago story, "Simply Be." The new one is called " **Upon Return** " and I think you should check it out!_

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 **. . .**

Brannigan summoned Juliet to her desk, and had a furtive air about her.

"Lean in closer," she urged, "but don't look as if we're talking about anything private."

Juliet wasn't sure how to achieve the latter if the former request was met, so she leaned in a _little_ , and tried not to look quite as furtive as her supervisor. "How's this?"

Brannigan nodded. "Obviously I can only know if I get up and check from a distance, but there's no time for that. You know the Chief's birthday is in two days, right?"

"Yes, I do." She had a plan for the day, only _part_ of which he knew about.

"He'll be..." she dropped her voice even lower, " _fifty_."

She smiled. "Yes, he will."

"Some men don't take that sort of thing very well."

"Some don't, but I think the Chief is handling it okay." He seemed more resigned than anything else, Juliet thought, and as far as she was concerned, he looked damned good. "He says it's just a number, and his daughter makes him feel older than that anyway."

This didn't seem to register with Brannigan, who went on, "We need to do something."

"About?"

"About his birthday!"

"Um, I don't think we can stop it."

"No, I mean to _celebrate_ it."

Juliet's warning sensors went off. "He doesn't like surprises."

"I know, but—"

"And he doesn't like a fuss."

"I know, but—"

"What have you done the last few years?"

She referred to a note. "I got here in 2014, and the first year we did cards and a cake because I didn't know what he might want instead and everyone told me he didn't like surprises or a fuss."

 _Hmmm... wish I'd listened to Karen Vick when she told_ me _that way back when._

"Then in 2015, we also did cards and a cake. In 2016, cards and gourmet doughnuts. I thought we should vary the theme, you see." She looked up at Juliet imploringly. "This won't be enough for his fiftieth birthday, though."

"Why not? How did he react to those birthdays?"

"Well, he thanked us. He seemed sincere. And then later in his office he thanked _me_ for keeping it low-key, because, you know, he doesn't like surprises or a fuss."

If she didn't _know_ Brannigan was one of the sharpest detectives out there, Juliet would be asking around to see how she _got_ this job.

"I promise you, he really does _not_ like surprises or a fuss." She had to do something to stop a potential disaster here; Carlton would find it hard to react well to something big and flashy. For a man who appreciated getting noticed for his hard work, he never seemed comfortable about unsolicited praise or attention, especially for things beyond his control, like birthdays or his big blue eyes. "Why don't you put Starbucks in the coffee machine that day? And bring in more of the gourmet doughnuts? I really, _really_ don't think you should do more than that."

Brannigan set her note down. "Then it's settled."

"Good." She relaxed a little.

" _You'll_ ask him what he wants or doesn't want, based on your long history as his former partner, and we'll go from there."

Not quite what she had in mind—especially since she'd just _told_ her what he most definitely would not want based on that very same long history as his former partner—but if it really did settle the question, _great_.

"I'm on it," she declared, and got up before Brannigan could say more to worry her.

In fact, she decided to take action now: it was mid-morning, Carlton was in his office, and the door was open.

She tapped on the glass. "Got a minute, _Chief_?"

He looked up and smiled. "Yes, _Detective_?"

Advancing as far as the chair, she said primly, "I have been sent to find out surreptitiously what you would like the station to do to honor your fiftieth birthday."

Carlton rolled his eyes. "Not this again."

"Which is Wednesday."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," he retorted.

"You never know," Juliet said with a nearly straight face. "Age does funny things to memory."

"Detective, a week ago we offered you a permanent position with the department, which you accepted. Don't make me regret that offer."

She had to laugh, and sat down in the chair, enjoying the gleam in his blue eyes. "Sorry. I _am_ honored to be a permanent member of this police force, and you will never regret hiring me." He and Brannigan were already reviewing applications for the second position, which the city had finally agreed to let them fill.

He leaned back in his chair. His tie was already loose, and she spotted just the tiniest bit of his chest hair and had to look away again.

"So tell her—you were sent by Brannigan, right?—I _don't_ want any fuss."

"I told her. You'll only get the fuss from me." So far as he knew, all she was doing was cooking dinner for him and Lilly at her place Wednesday evening.

She had offered to babysit, either that night or over the weekend, to give him a chance to go out and have some alone time—parents didn't get much of it, and single parents even less. He could go to the range, or check out a Civil War display at the museum, anything he liked. But he'd looked at her and said levelly that he would truly prefer just a quiet evening with his daughter and his BFF. After she willed away the mistiness in her vision, she'd offered the dinner instead and he'd seemed genuinely pleased.

"That's all I need." He smiled, and she melted a little more.

 _Suck it up, girl. No time for mooning, no matter how yummy he looks and how much you'd like to sit in his lap WHOA didn't I just tell you NO MORE MOONING?_

Juliet shook her head (partly to clear the former line of thought). "Unfortunately, that is not good enough for Brannigan."

"Dammit." He picked up a pen and then tossed it down again. "Tell her—" He stopped, eyes brightening. "Tell her I threw you out in a rage and that I don't want a damned thing."

Her jaw dropped. "What?"

He grinned. "I have an idea."

"Uh, I am not going out there and telling her you're angry."

"You need me to yell to make it convincing?"

"It won't be convincing while you're sitting there grinning like a loon, Carlton."

This did not diminish the aforementioned grin. "Did you know loons are actually very handsome birds?"

"So are you," she said lightly, and truthfully, and got up before she could see his reaction.

"Wait... are you saying I'm a loon? Or handsome?"

She could not look at him, and answered as she turned for the door (suspecting he was smirking anyway). "Both. I'm going to tell her you said no surprises and no fuss. Coffee, cake or doughnuts, that's it."

"Wuss," he called after her.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Wednesday morning, Carlton woke just before the alarm went off, and surveyed his bedroom ceiling, lit by the early morning sun through the trees outside.

Fifty.

Felt a lot like forty-nine, but sounded worse.

The alarm buzzed—he silenced it—and then his phone buzzed in apparent solidarity.

 _Happy birthday, BFF. Feel old?_

He texted back: _Can't read that until I find my bifocals, missy_.

 _Take it easy today. Just in case._

 _I can still fire you, you know._

 _Not until tomorrow._

He thought _never_ would be more like it.

Sitting up slowly, stretching, he contemplated the day ahead. First check on Lilly, and then come back here and work the treadmill. Shower, shave and dress, go back and wake her up, go downstairs for breakfast. Start the day whether the engine wanted to turn or not.

Yet something felt a little tiny bit off.

Not a bad off... but off.

An aroma was tickling at his nose, and while he was puzzling over this, the phone buzzed again on the bedside table.

 _By the way, I'm in your kitchen. Lilly and I are waaaaaaiiiiiting for you._

He ran his hands through his hair, decided turning fifty was enough reason to look like crap first thing in the morning, and headed downstairs—after an obligatory peek into Lilly's room which confirmed that she was most assuredly not in bed.

 _Fine alert cop_ you _are, bud._

Padding down the stairs rapidly but with dignity befitting an aging and confused police chief, he found the two of them sitting at the kitchen table. Juliet began singing "Happy Birthday" as soon as he walked in.

Lilly began singing too, albeit off-key and with some words missing. Still in her jammies, her dark curls mussed, she was nonetheless the sweetest creature he'd ever seen, sitting next to the most beautiful creature ever made—his sunny blue-eyed goddess friend and dream woman.

Before them rested a plate piled high with pancakes, several flavors of syrup, and even some sausage links, with two steaming mugs of coffee for the grownups and milk for Lilly.

Lilly got down off her chair and ran to him; Juliet stood too and he didn't care how he looked or what she thought; he encompassed them both in his hug and kissed both their cheeks—and if Juliet's felt exceptionally warm, well, so was his.

She beamed at him once they were seated again. "I heard a rumor that you don't like surprises, but I hope you'll make an exception."

Carlton surveyed his feast. "You are the _only_ person I could make such an exception for." He smiled and hoped his heart wasn't showing.

"Juliet waked me up, Daddy!"

"I see that, Lilly-cat." He took a sip of the coffee and tugged at one of her curls. "Juliet is sneaky."

Juliet laughed. "The last time I babysat I practiced going up and down the stairs to be sure I knew where the squeaky steps were."

"The nerve of some people," he groused, and her laughter was music. "Breaking into my house—"

"You gave me a key."

"—kidnapping my daughter—"

"She came willingly."

"—raiding my kitchen—"

"I smuggled this stuff in yesterday after you left with Lilly. Not my fault if you don't pay attention to what's in your fridge and cupboards."

"—counting on my aging brain to miss a lot of clues—"

She only laughed, and Lilly laughed even if she didn't know why, and Juliet hugged her and was hugged back.

He concluded, "I'm screwed, aren't I?"

She'd never know how _completely_ he was screwed; she just thought it was a joke.

"Yes, you are."

Lilly echoed, "Daddy's scwewed!" ... which completed the perfection of the morning.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet marveled at the sight.

It was her second time for marveling so far today.

The first time was when Carlton came down to the kitchen, all rumpled fresh-out-of-bed gorgeous. He would never know what a struggle it was for her to remember the words to the birthday song, looking at him in his delectable un-done-ness. Tousled black and silver hair, unshaven, soft flannel pants and a loose tee. So freaking warm when he hugged her, and his kiss to her face so gentle and... _daaaaamn_. Just _damn_.

 _Focus._

This time, she was marveling as two attendants from Spudnuts and Bagels wheeled in a cart laden with trays of pastries, bagels and more, accompanied by Sergeant Allen, who said they were allowed admittance by the Chief himself.

Brannigan stood wide-eyed next to Juliet. "He... he... he provided his _own_ birthday feast!"

"He certainly did."

On her right, Dobson said solemnly, "That man is my hero."

Behind her, Buzz said just as solemnly, "We're not worthy."

Carlton strolled out of his office and over to the attendants, thanking them both and then studying the repast they'd laid out, which covered the entire coffee bar and then some. Turning to face everyone, he simply said, "Happy birthday to _all_ of us. Now stop staring and start eating!"

There was a roar of approval, and he allowed a certain amount of back-slapping before he got a cup of coffee—at least Brannigan had indeed filled it with Starbucks for the day—and headed toward Juliet.

To Brannigan, he said quite mildly, "I really don't want a fuss on my birthdays. Ever. But you were right—fifty called for something special."

He patted her on the shoulder—she was still speechless—smirked at Juliet, and strolled away again.

From her desk in a few minutes, she texted him: _And you said I was the sneaky one_.

 _Just bow to the master already. I haven't got all day._

She laughed, and when she looked up, she could see him saluting her through his half-open blinds.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton settled into his bed, having concluded his first day as a fifty-year-old man. Technically, of course, a birthday meant having just _completed_ that number of years, but he was choosing not to think of himself as already partway through being fifty-one.

Smiling up into the darkness, listening to the house settling around him, he accepted that this had been a glorious day all around.

Beginning with the marvelous breakfast with Juliet, that divine interloper, continuing with the success of his mid-morning food surprise for the station, and proceeding to a surprisingly painless meeting with community groups in the afternoon, it was all good. He'd even had a pleasant, if brief, birthday call from Marlowe, who was traveling somewhere in Oklahoma.

(His mother did not call. Althea did, but knew better than to mention Mona. His sister Lauren called and sent flowers with a sympathy note, and he'd be getting her back soon enough.)

Then dinner at Juliet's: chicken and pasta, salad and a small chocolate cake shared three ways with enough left over for her to send two slices home with him and Lilly.

(He just hoped he wouldn't have to argue with Lilly in the morning about whether or not it would make a good breakfast.)

He couldn't help but hug Juliet again before they left, and as always, she was so warm and lovely and felt _so damned right_ in his arms.

One day he might not be able to let her go.

Picking up his phone, he texted her: _Doesn't seem right to go to sleep without bugging you._

Indeed, he couldn't remember a night over the last few months when they hadn't exchanged texts before bed.

 _I was thinking the same thing. You start, expert._

 _Ha. Thank you again for making my birthday so nice._

 _You deserved it. And now you have six months to plan a killer birthday for me. :-)_

 _Oh, fine. Set the bar ridiculously high._

:-) _FYI, I don't like surprises or a fuss._

 _You like surprises. I've SEEN you like surprises._

 _OK, little tiny ones. No bounce houses._

 _Of course not. You're not thirty anymore._

 _Aha! So this is where it starts! You're cocky now, all fifty and stuff._

 _I was cocky before, O'Hara. Pay attention._

 _Seriously, how does anyone put up with you?_

 _Some people are paid to put up with me. Some people are just crazy. *points in your direction*_

 _Crazy like a FOX, you mean._

 _Uh... sure. You keep telling yourself that._

 _Hey, I got into your house and cooked a whole breakfast AND snuck your kid out of her room and you slept through the whole thing._

 _It's suspicious. I think you conspired with Lilly to drug my food last night._

 _That does seems likely_.

He laughed—realized he'd been grinning the whole time—and this wasn't unusual. He loved their banter. He loved _her_. He was doomed.

After a little more back-and-forth she sent a sleepy-face emoji, and they wound it up for the night.

But then he lay there, wondering how he was going to make it through this continued state of besottedness.

And he wondered, too, where his feelings for Marlowe—which seemed so far away—fit into the picture of who he was now.

He _had_ loved Marlowe. He'd loved the idea of her, someone he could make happy, someone who made him happy. There had been plenty of nights where he'd come home to her and Lilly, seeing their smiling faces, knowing he was loved and wanted, and it all felt right.

But did it feel as right as this... thing... with Juliet, even though there was no _thing_ to speak of because—well, because it just seemed unlikely?

His divorce was less than three months ago. Marlowe moved out six months before that. That added up to nine months of singleness. Was he just overly attached to his friend? And was that fair to her?

 _No more hugs_ , he advised himself yet again. _Less night-time texting. Give her a chance to have her own life_. _She cares about you but she might be overly attached too simply because she's re-finding her way as well_.

Moving back home didn't mean automatically being able to pick up where she left off, and it might seem easier to stick with what she knew than make new paths toward new friendships... and loathe though he was to think it, new relationships.

Of course, Lilly _was_ pretty damned cute. Maybe Juliet was just in it for the four-year-old.

Despite his darker mental wanderings, _that_ made him laugh.

"Happy birthday, you old whackaloon," he muttered, and pulled the covers up high.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 _A/N I guess I can't think of any reason **not** to post two chapters in one day. Those of you still reading can just suck it up, and those of you not reading don't count. :-) You know who you are. Or you would, if you were reading, but you're not, so never mind. _

**. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

April rolled into May, and spring was turning into early summer. Trees were green and flowers bloomed, and Juliet was happy with just about every part of her life except for still being completely unable to fall _out_ of love with Carlton.

Not that it was _bad_ to be in love with him. All their time together was good and she loved the time she spent with him and Lilly both. It was just that she knew it could be so much more, if she'd either _move_ on him—and risk blowing it—or he'd move on her, if he was even interested.

Sometimes she thought he was. She knew he considered her pretty damned significant in his life, but that "friend" label was like a wall.

And it was still pretty soon after his divorce, she had to admit. Rebound. Appearances. The whole Chief/employee thing. Single with a young daughter. So many issues he might be dealing with, or might think he had to deal with.

 _You could ask him._

 _Yeahhhhh... no._

Not yet. But the time was coming.

Buzz McNab became a father mid-way through May. He and Francie chose the name John Carlton McNab for their infant, which seemed to completely blow Carlton's mind. He couldn't do more than look wide-eyed at Buzz when he made the announcement, and Juliet had to assure a worried Buzz later that it meant a great deal to him.

To Juliet, in his office, he said privately, "I know it's just a middle name. Not like the kid's gonna trot that monster out to impress his buddies. But—and don't you tell anyone I said this or you're fired, _twice_ —" And then he fell silent, blue eyes still showing a mix of pride and uncertainty.

Juliet rubbed his arm lightly. "I'll tell him you're very pleased."

"Thank you," he murmured, and went to sit at his desk, where he took up his _I Like Big Busts And I Cannot Lie_ mug and surveyed its contents.

She felt like she should say more, somehow, but mostly she'd just have been happy to have an excuse to touch him again.

Because she was a lovesick goner, she was.

"Hey, before you go," he added, his expression clearing. "I have a favor to ask. Bigger one than usual."

Juliet stayed where she was, hands on the back of the chair. "You don't actually ask for many favors."

"Seems like I do. The mayor's office called. They want me to present some crime stats at a conference down in San Diego on June 5. I should be able to fly down and back that day, but looking at the schedule, I doubt I can be back here before midnight. Maybe later if I have to do a meet and greet afterwards, but I'm trying to get out of that. Do you think you could keep Lilly? Or stay over at my place that night? I know it's a lot to ask."

She was surprised. "But I've surely earned my wings as a babysitter by now. Why would you be afraid?"

Carlton shrugged. "Because a few hours a few nights a month isn't the same as a whole night, and she might feel weird about me not being home."

"If she's not used to me by now, she never will be. And I think I should stay in your spare room to minimize her possible weirded-out-ness. We'll call it a sleepover." She grinned. "Most likely we'll still be awake giggling when you get home."

He smiled now. "Then have some supper waiting for me while you're at it."

"Don't push your luck, potato boy. Just let me know the details and it's set." She went out humming, because honestly it sounded like fun. Lilly probably _would_ be a little unsure about Daddy not being home that night, but Juliet had never met a challenge she couldn't take down.

Well, except for the whole being-in-love-with-Carlton-and-paralyzed-about-it challenge.

 _If you want to get picky, fine._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton ran into Henry Spencer at the grocery store; he was making a quick milk run before going to pick Lilly up.

Henry was reaching for the same jug and started to shoo Carlton's hand away before realizing who he'd be scuffling with. "If that's for your growing daughter, I'll graciously allow you dibs."

"Very kind of you. How's it going?"

He was as surprised to hear himself ask as Henry was to be asked.

But Henry took it in stride. "Can't complain. Hey, I got enough positive feedback from your profiling presentation last month that I think you're going to have to come back for the summer class."

"You know a lot about profiling too, Spencer." Fairly ungrudgingly, he added, "Not for nothing are _you_ still a bit of legend around the station."

Henry laughed. "A bit? Big praise. You must be feeling mellow now that McNab named his junior after you."

Carlton, were he a feet-shuffling kind of man, would have shuffled his feet. "Still can't believe he did that."

"Why not? He's always hero-worshipped you. He's not the only one."

He felt his brows furrowing in puzzlement. "What the hell's that mean?"

"Relax. I just meant you've cut a bad-ass figure now and again over the years and some of the underlings have both noticed and tried to emulate you." He seemed very amused. "McNab just gets more attention about it because he's a nine-foot-tall puppy dog."

Which description was about right, Carlton reflected. " _Good_ dog, though."

Henry laughed again. "Yeah, he is. Then there's Juliet, of course."

The frown returned. "She never hero-worshipped me. Is there a point to this? I have to go get Lilly before she goes home with some other dad."

"She's not going home with any other dad. You're her one and only." He picked up another jug of milk and saluted. "Just like you are for Juliet, I expect."

Carlton stared after his retreating—no doubt smug—figure for far too long.

 _Yeah, man, that's_ all _you need. Outside... nudging._

 _Go get your daughter. The daydreams are on your own time_.

The daydreams laughed derisively in his head.

Nothing had changed since his birthday except that he was more often resisting the urge to hug Juliet... well, _most_ of the many, many times the urges overtook him.

However, he was, as always, _completely_ helpless to resist accepting a hug from her, and if he let himself think about it without assigning too much significance to the fact, she seemed to be pretty willing to hug him lately.

They usually spent Saturdays together, the three of them, and he got a goodbye hug just like Lilly did every time. Sometimes an accursed kiss to the cheek.

He didn't think she was _trying_ to kill him, but wouldn't hold it against her if she did.

The problem was that the hugs were too good, and too long, and he always felt flushed when they were over. Sometimes she seemed a little pink, but couldn't that just be because she was embarrassed about _him_ being, er, pink?

 _Well then she wouldn't hug you so much, would she?_

But Lilly knew goodbyes were for hugging. If Juliet didn't hug him, then Lilly would think— _oh right_ , he snapped at himself, _like Juliet would bow to pressure from a four-year-old to hug her pathetic geezer father_.

Although she might.

"You're an idiot," he said in the checkout line, and then had to apologize to the woman in front of him.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet was settled in bed and reaching for her phone—nighttime was Carlton-texting time—when it buzzed preemptively.

 _Marlowe called. She's coming to town this weekend._

It was Thursday, and he was going on his trip next Tuesday.

 _For good or to visit?_

 _Says it's a quickie, so she can check in with Adrian. She wants to see Lilly._

 _Have you told Lilly?_

 _No, she was already asleep and Marlowe asked me to think about it first._

Juliet called him. "To think about what?"

He sighed. "She's afraid it might do more to upset her after she leaves again."

"How does Lilly act after the Sunday phone calls?"

"She's usually jazzed for awhile. She's getting to where she knows it's about time for the phone to ring and she's always ready to chatter."

Juliet could hear the smile in his smoky voice. "Has she ever asked to call Marlowe herself?"

" _Oh_ yeah, but I always tell the same bald-faced lie, that I don't have her number. It won't work much longer."

"Probably not, but you've made it four months. So... what do you think about the visit?"

"I would never stop Marlowe from seeing her, and obviously Lilly will be thrilled. But I guess it could be awfully hard to let go again. I wonder," he mused, and was silent a moment, "if Marlowe might be more afraid that _she_ can't let go again. Maybe she wants me to say no so she won't have to put herself through it."

Juliet rolled over and fluffed the pillow idly. "It's possible. But you should only say no if you think it's best for _Lilly_."

"Yeah. What do _you_ think?"

"Me?"

Carlton sounded wry. "You're a pretty important part of her life, you know, and damned near crucial in mine. Your opinion is usually spot-on."

She willed her heart to resume after the word _crucial_ , and said lightly, "What do you mean _usually_?

He chuckled, the warm sound in her ear making her feel he was right there with her. "You misheard. I said _always_."

"Uh-huh. Well... like you, I'd be hard-pressed to deny Lilly the chance to see her mother. How long is the visit?"

"She wants to have her Sunday evening through Tuesday morning over at Beth's. I told her about my trip and she said she'd take Lilly to daycare that morning."

Knowing he had probably thought it himself and already decided not to _say_ it, she ventured, "No chance she'll run off with her, is there?"

"Doubtful. And yes, I thought about it," he admitted. "But it's not her way. I don't know, Juliet. I think I'm going to say yes, but we'll see how it plays out when she shows up on Sunday evening. If Lilly shows any hesitation about going with her to Beth's, that'll be my cue."

"That sounds like a good plan. Lilly's reaction will be all you need."

They talked a little longer, but she could tell he was still a little uncertain about his decision. Lilly had been stable and happy the past few months. He told her that sometimes she did get fussy and ask for Marlowe, and at least once, Juliet had heard the same thing while babysitting. But being able to talk to her Mamma every week seemed to keep her on an even keel.

It was going to be fine. She felt it, and would do her best to reassure him before then.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet stopped by Carlton's house early Tuesday morning, both to drop off her overnight bag and to exchange car keys with him. Her Mazda would get a free visit to the airport for the day so she could make use of the car seat in his Fusion.

He was distracted by last-minute prep and probably didn't even hear himself say, "We should just buy another one for your car," because if he had heard himself say it, he'd have been embarrassed.

But Juliet was enchanted. _We._

Implications that she was in this—their lives—up to her eyeballs. _Yes_. She liked it, idiot-girl that she was.

She was humming all the way to work, and still ridiculously happy at the point she accepted a call from Lilly's daycare.

Time-check: ten-thirty.

"Ms. O'Hara? This is Andie, from—"

"Yes, I remember. Is everything all right?" _Please let her be there and okay._

"Yes and no. Lilly's mother dropped her off on schedule but we really haven't been able to get Lilly to..." she hesitated. "To stop crying, honestly. She seems very upset."

Juliet's heart sank. "Oh no. We were afraid of that."

"We might be making some progress toward settling her down right now, and I know Chief Lassiter is out of town for the day, but I thought I should let you know she's having a little trouble."

Juliet asked if she should come by on her lunch break to see her, but Andie advised that she should call first, because if they had her calm, it might not be necessary.

She definitely didn't want to make things worse, especially since she had to be in court that afternoon and really couldn't pick her up much earlier than four o'clock.

To add to her unease, Carlton texted after awhile to say he was in San Diego and asked if she'd heard anything from the daycare.

Now, she reminded herself, what he was really asking was whether Marlowe dropped her off, so she answered: _Lilly is safe and sound. They said she was a little upset but doing better._

Mostly truthful.

But he figured out the nuance: _They called you? Why?_

Crap.

 _Just checking in because of the different dropper-offer. I told them I'd leave straight from court to get her, just to make her day better._

 _OK, thanks._

She breathed a sigh of relief. He did not need to be fretting about this. She would judge Lilly's state of mind for herself this afternoon, and tell him anything he needed to know when he got home.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton let himself into the kitchen quietly. The light over the sink was on, and he could smell cinnamon, so Juliet must have baked something—and he found it: cinnamon-dusted cookies, and the _first_ two he scarfed down were delicious.

It was nearly one a.m., and everything was silent.

There'd been virtually no spare time to contact her while he was traveling. One quick late afternoon exchange gave him to understand that Lilly was still a little upset but Juliet was with her and calming her down.

He sat at the table for a minute, letting the exhaustion of the day fall away. The last few days, actually, starting with seeing Marlowe on Sunday night. She looked good. Healthy and pretty. Happier, despite the worry in her eyes in the moments before Lilly came in.

She said her travels so far had given her what she needed: independence, education, scenery. She admitted talking to Lilly every week was both difficult and wonderful.

She also said Lilly mentioned Juliet quite often.

Carlton knew that; he was always in the room when they talked, mindful of Lilly's four-year-old attention span and the importance of keeping his phone in working order. He'd even wondered how it sounded on Marlowe's side to have Lilly carry on about Juliet, but for a change he wouldn't let himself feel guilty about it: Marlowe knew they were friends, she knew Juliet was good to Lilly, and there was nothing to feel guilty about in the first place.

If there was a tone in her words, he didn't interpret it as either disapproval or jealousy, and even if either had been present, there was nothing he could do about them.

She was planning to visit her brother before she left for parts southeast. The Grand Canyon, she said, and Monument Valley, places he intended to see one day. Family vacation material, he thought.

Lilly had gone happily with her mother and Mrs. Purpleface, hugging Daddy goodbye and practically floating out the door.

 _There_ was a smile-worthy memory. He dispatched the third cinnamon cookie, locked up and turned the light off. Depositing his briefcase in the hall, he headed up the stairs quietly, hoping not to wake either of them in their respective rooms—though he wouldn't have been surprised if Juliet was still awake and waiting to check in with him.

Lilly's door was wide open and her bedside light was on, but she was not in her bed.

 _Hmmm_. Maybe she was with Juliet. He stopped off at his bedroom, intending to shed his shoes and jacket, but—

Juliet lay on his bed, asleep, with Lilly draped across her. The lamp was set to low and he couldn't help but admire Juliet, so lovely, her blonde hair so tempting to touch, and her curvy body just— _stop it. Stop it now_.

He got his shoes off and was hanging his jacket when she stirred.

"Hey," she said sleepily.

Turning, he saw her rubbing at her eyes. "Bad night?"

Juliet glanced at the sleeping little girl. "You could say that. I could _not_ get her into her room, or even mine. She had to come here, and then she wouldn't stop fussing unless I stayed too."

He went to sit on the edge of the bed, stroking his daughter's warm cheek and soft dark curls. "Worse than you let on, huh."

She looked sheepish. "There was nothing you could do. She just missed her Mamma, and then Daddy was gone too."

Carlton understood. Part of him wished he'd known every step of the way, but the rest of him knew he'd have done the same thing in Juliet's position.

Lilly shifted, mumbling something incoherent.

"Why don't you get ready for bed," Juliet suggested, fighting back a yawn, "and then you can take over here?"

He agreed, and went to wash up and change for the night, a little surprised that he wasn't more fazed to have Juliet in his bed. Not quite how he'd imagined it over the years, was it?

In his flannel pants and gray tee, he turned off the bathroom light and returned to the bedroom.

Juliet sat up carefully—still sleepy and utterly gorgeous. "Do you want to keep her here or take her to her room?"

"Her room," he said, and eased his arms around Lilly to lift her up. "House rules."

But she woke in the process. "Daddy!" she cried, and gripped him like a frickin' python.

"Lilly-cat," he soothed her. "I'm home. Let's get you to bed."

"No no! I want to stay here!"

"No, sweetie, your bed is all ready for you." He tried to stand, but she wriggled like a pro, crying in earnest now.

Juliet met his consternated gaze with a faint smile. "All night long."

"Daddy," Lilly wailed. "I want Mamma!"

Carlton sat down on the bed, Lilly on his lap, and pushed damp curls off her face. "Did you have a good visit with Mamma?"

She nodded, burrowing against him. "I want Mamma."

"She'll call you in a few days, Lilly-cat. Mamma's on her trip again. Come on, let's get to bed."

Lilly refused. Vehemently and repeatedly.

Juliet got off the bed and came to kneel in front of them. "Lilly, honey, it's all right. Daddy's home and Mamma will call you soon and everything's fine now."

"Julie," she sobbed, and reached for her.

Carlton, bemused, let her out of his grasp and into Juliet's. They went around a few more times, but she was beyond distraught now, and when they finally _finally_ had her quiet and back in his arms, Juliet suggested, "Maybe sometimes there needs to be an exception to the sleep-in-her-own-bed rule."

"Sometimes being now," he agreed wearily.

"Looks like." She caressed Lilly's hair. "I'm going to leave you to it. I think I might be agitating her more."

He was pretty sure Lilly was agitated without any outside help, and Lilly proved it because as soon as she realized Juliet was leaving the room, she started wailing all over again.

Juliet looked at Carlton; he looked at her. She was clearly as tired as he felt.

"Stay," he said. "Until she falls asleep."

She nodded, and got back on the bed. With Lilly between them, gradually settling down, they continued soothing and petting her. She asked for the light to be turned off, and Carlton reached behind him to put the room in relative darkness but for the streetlight outside.

He hoped he wouldn't be drooling in his sleep when Juliet slipped off to the guest room.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet slowly opened her eyes. It felt like morning, and leaf-shaded sunlight confirmed this theory.

Little by little a series of facts made themselves known to her.

First, Lilly was sitting on the floor nearby, her back to her as she played with Mrs. Purpleface and her friend Mr. Turtlehead (who was a koala, because Lilly's toy-naming skills were _rad_ ).

Second, the chief object of the play seemed to be having them take turns falling off the treadmill.

Third, the presence of a treadmill—let alone Lilly—meant that Juliet was not only not in her room at home, but also not in the guest room at Carlton's house.

Fourth, this meant she was in Carlton's room.

To be clear, the fact-lister elucidated, his _bedroom_.

Fifth, this meant she was still in his bed.

With what felt an awful lot like his arm around her waist.

Goosebumps raged along her skin and she was so, so, _soooo_ awake now.

His arm was warm, a satisfying weight around her, and she could feel his breath stirring her hair, and the light pressure of his chest against her back.

Her internal fact-lister pointed out one more little itty bitty thing.

His hand, his wonderful long-fingered hand, was loosely cupping her breast through her tee.

Heat flared _everywhere_.

Juliet swallowed hard.

But he was asleep, no doubt about it, and she knew instinctively that he had no idea he was touching her like this, nor any idea how much she wished there was no tee and no daughter and possibly not even Mrs. Purpleface or Mr. Whoozitheiny.

His fingers twitched, and that heat re-flared.

 _Do not move._

Carlton's breathing changed suddenly.

She kept her eyes closed and tried to relax. _Breathe evenly. You're asleep._

And then she asked herself why. Why shouldn't she just cover his hand with hers, and let him know this was okay?

Because it wasn't okay. _Daughter. Unintentional. Mrs. Buttkoala._

And besides, _maybe he thought she was Marlowe_.

Carlton rolled away from her carefully—too carefully to be anything other than as wide awake as she was.

When he got up a few minutes later and went quietly into the bathroom, Juliet scrambled out of his bed, scooped up a startled Lilly and vamoosed to safer ground.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton stood in the shower, warm water sluicing down his body, and honestly didn't know how he was supposed to feel about this.

He knew his hand had been on her breast, and that her nipple under his fingertip through the cotton of her t-shirt had been hard. He had no recollection of how it might have gotten there. His hand, not her nipple.

He had a vague recollection of a dream about her, not even sexual in nature, although he'd had plenty of _those_ in the past... including the very _recent_ past.

He was pretty damned sure she was awake in the moments before he fled.

Now he had to face her. Yes he did.

Yes, he damned well did.

She would think he was an opportunistic pig.

Yes, she damned well would.

Or she would be nice— _that's okay Carlton, we'll just forget about it Carlton, really, Carlton, let's just agree to never ever EVER speak of this again, Carlton, okay? Like, starting right this second? and by the way, Carlton, take a good look at my service weapon_ —and that might be worse.

He looked down. " _You_ need to settle down too," he warned his traitorous flesh, and set the water temperature to end his shower on cold.

But after he dried off and put on his robe and stepped back into Ground Zero and saw she and Lilly were gone, other more logical thoughts fluttered around his agitated brain.

Chief among them was this: _what are you waiting for? And what have you got to lose?_

One rather loud answer to that was also a question, one he didn't like at all.

 _What has_ Lilly _got to lose?_

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet had gotten dressed and pulled herself together. Her overnight bag was by the door, and she would go home and shower as soon as Carlton came downstairs. She'd already made Lilly's breakfast, which was half-eaten, and the much sunnier child was in the living room in front of the TV.

How in the hell was this going to play out?

She wouldn't know until she was face to face with him. She'd already decided to let him make the decision about whether to bring it up—because for all she knew, he believed she was asleep and unaware.

On autopilot, she washed the baking pan from last night's cookies and then stared at the empty sink while her inner voices went to town.

 _You should have gone with your instinct and covered his hand while he was touching you. You should have rolled over into his arms, kissed him fully awake and told him how you feel_.

 _Then, before he could freak out, you could have pointed out that Lilly was in the room and he would have to keep the freaking out to a minimum._

While she was distracted (again) by imagining kissing Carlton (again), one of the voices snuck in a variant sharp and pointy thought: since _they_ didn't normally share a bed, was it possible his sleeping self thought he was with Marlowe?

Now, her logical brain advised her firmly, that wasn't very likely. He hadn't seemed to be pining for his ex, even before the divorce. Everything he told her in Palm Springs six months ago rang true: the marriage was over, and that was that.

Even if his sleeping brain _was_ wired to the habit of draping an arm over Marlowe, so what? Marlowe was gone and Juliet was _right here_.

Well, the sharp and pointy voice snarked, he did just see Marlowe over the weekend, and he hadn't said much about it except that she looked good and seemed happier.

 _Didn't mean anything_. He was preoccupied by worrying about Lilly and preparing for his upcoming day trip.

But Marlowe was indisputably a kind and lovely woman. He'd loved her. He'd married her. He'd made a life with her. That all counted for... a hell of a lot. Damn him.

 _You're an idiot to be working yourself up like this_ , LogicBrain snapped.

Yeah, well. Juliet sighed. _I am woman, hear me lose it._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Upstairs, dressing slowly, Carlton was still battling his own inquisitive little bastard demons.

How might this—whether the touching in and of itself, or his momentary inclination to simply spill his heart to Juliet—affect Lilly, if Juliet's reaction was "nope nope _nope_ "?

Lilly loved Juliet and _needed_ her now to be the mother figure that Marlowe couldn't be. If Juliet vacated his life out of embarrassment (or revulsion), her absence might hurt Lilly in ways he couldn't bring himself to fully consider.

Last night was a perfect illustration: in the midst of sobbing about her mother, she was reaching for Juliet as well as Carlton. When Lilly was sick in April, she instinctively went to Juliet in utter certainty that she would be protected and comforted.

 _So think_ , he told himself. _You know Juliet. You know she cares about you, and even if it's just as a friend, she is not going to abandon Lilly now._

She _wouldn't_. If nothing else, she would stick around until Marlowe's return.

 _So get your shoes on, go downstairs, and if she hasn't already left the county, look her in the eye and say good morning and thank her for being Lilly's friend as well as yours._

If she wanted to talk about what just happened with the hand and the breast and the fleeing, she would let him know.

And if she _wasn't_ grossed out and filling out harassment lawsuit papers at his kitchen table, maybe he would finally man up and tell her how he felt about her. Probably not, but it _could_ happen.

Carlton stood for a minute just... breathing. Collecting himself. Taking stock.

The wisest little voice finally got through all the rest of the chatter.

 _Buddy, you love her, and you know her. She might not love you back, but you_ know _she won't be cruel and she will do her best not to hurt you or your daughter. She is your friend if nothing else, and this will be okay no matter how it turns out._

He would tell her. Right now. And even if it _wasn't_ okay in the short term, it would be okay eventually.

Buoyed by an odd sort of peace about his probable impending doom, he headed downstairs without tie or jacket; he'd have to go back up anyway to get Lilly dressed. This was more important.

Lilly was in front of the TV, talking to the colorful characters filling the screen, and in the kitchen, Juliet stood at the sink, not moving. Shoulders slumped. She was probably tired, but she would be beautiful anyway because she couldn't help it.

He heard himself say, "Good morning, m—" and then cut himself off. Maybe he wasn't that brave after all.

Juliet turned and studied him, her expression almost blank. Not angry. Wary?

"Coffee on?" he said instead. _Almost_ naturally. Internal alarms beeping.

"Um," she started, her voice cool and even, which only set off more internal alarms, "were you just about to call me _Marlowe_?"

 _Dear God…_ "No."

 _Hell_ no _._

Her jaw tightened. "You sure?"

Carlton felt his unease growing by the second, and the internal alarms were entering 'red alert' mode. " _Very_ sure."

"Good, because I'd hate to think I was just a stand-in at this point." She put her back to him and reached for the coffee pot to rinse it out.

 _Holy CRAP!_

 _What in the HELL just happened?_

 _Nope nope NOPE_ wasn't enough to express _his_ thoughts. He advanced on her rapidly and put his hand on her arm, pulling her around to face him.

With as much clarity as a man on shifting sands could muster, he said flatly, "Juliet, you could never be _just_ a stand-in for _anyone_."

Juliet took a shaky breath, and looked uncertain. "Old habits—"

Carlton cut her off, his hand still tight around her arm, because she _had_ to stay put and _understand_ this. "No old habits. None."

She seemed to be trembling in his grip but he could not let her go.

And he would have to tell her the truth. Right now, right here, no running away.

"What I stopped myself from saying was…" _Take a breath, man_. "'Good morning, _my dear_.'"

Juliet stared at him, frozen, those dark blue eyes fixed on his.

 _My dear._ Suddenly it sounded ridiculously old-fashioned and he was a stupid lame-ass idiot, yet wasn't it _perfect_ for her? For how he felt about her?

He added quietly, "And I wasn't thinking about anyone but you. I haven't been thinking about anyone but you for a long time."

He let her go, but held her gaze.

Could she hear his thundering heart?

Juliet breathed in and out for a bit, and for all the times she'd told him he hid too well, she was impossible to read right now.

 _All right then_. He'd said what he could say and now it was her turn to speak... or not speak.

Carlton took the coffee pot out of her hands to finish the rinsing, but Juliet tugged at his sleeve and drew him to face her.

Almost wonderingly, she put her warm and gentle hand up to caress his cheek and temple. Her eyes were so beautiful and he could not resist her touch or pull away.

"Good morning," she whispered. "My _darling_."

And slowly, so slowly, she reached up and kissed him.

Juliet.

O'Hara.

 _Ohhhh…_

Kissed.

Him.

Not on the cheek, either.

Right on his frickin' mouth.

And _Lordy..._ his heart and brain started short-circuiting.

It was so sweet, so tender. Perfect.

Juliet's lips moved tantalizingly against his, her arms around his neck, his arms somehow around her waist now. She tasted of every dream he'd ever had about her, waking or otherwise, and felt so absolutely right pressed against his body.

He explored her via kisses, slowly and with as much restraint as he could muster, because in the first place his daughter was in the next room, and in the second place, it turned out he loved kissing Juliet so much that he was pretty sure he could go on doing so for the foreseeable future.

Juliet's tongue ran along his lips, and he tightened his arms around her when that same tongue met his. The delicious heat of her mouth was drawing him into a state of mindless euphoria.

He would call her 'my dear' every damned chance he got.

Her soft hair was under his fingertips and she sighed against his skin as he kissed her face and throat, and when he felt her teeth nipping at his earlobe he shivered from head to toe.

Could they stand any closer?

 _Let's find out._

One hand higher on her back, and the other sliding down to her ass, he pulled her as close as two fully dressed people could get, and Juliet sighed again and tightened her own hold on him.

That mouth... that wonderful persistent delicious mouth... she seemed as hungry for him as he was for her, and her undulations against his body were driving him more than a little crazy.

"God, woman," he muttered, and she captured his lips again for a deeper kiss, but he could feel her smile nonetheless.

The Saint of Inopportune Interruptions metaphorically tapped on his shoulder: he realized Lilly was trundling in from the living room, singing something indecipherable. Before she made it to the kitchen, Juliet stepped away from him.

Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard.

He imagined he was flushed too; _he_ was certainly breathing hard.

Juliet smiled—a wide, brilliant, gorgeous smile—and was utterly breathtaking.

"Daddy, can I have a cookie?"

He never took his eyes off Juliet. "Did you have breakfast?"

"Yes, I had ceweal."

The lisp came and went, sort of like his common sense.

"Half a bowl," Juliet whispered.

He felt magnaminous. "Then it's a cookie morning."

"Yay!" Lilly exclaimed, and he gave her one of the cinnamon treats from the container.

Juliet pushed her hair back, distracted now—still flushed—and gestured to her bag by the door. "I'm going to go home and get ready for work. I hope we'll talk soon?"

"We will," he promised, and realized he felt no sense of doom at all.

It really _was_ a cookie morning.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet couldn't figure out why she was shivering, but she was. Standing in her shower, she was shivering—and then realized she was simply flat-out giddy.

Giddiness, apparently, made her shiver.

Or maybe it was tremble; terminology didn't really matter at this point.

She sat on the bed and was unable to figure out where her closet was. Or her shoes. Or her grip on reality.

Carlton.

Could kiss. Like a pro.

Finally she _knew_ that, although she'd known it would be true long before Ursula Gibbs waxed rhapsodic about him, because she just _knew_. She knew a man like Carlton, reserved and controlled and hiding a battle-weary heart, would kiss like no other man.

Now she was flushed again, and her heart was trilling along because she loved him so, and he'd kissed her and held her like he felt the same, and despite knowing she should assume nothing, she wanted to assume everything.

Juliet lay back on the mattress and sighed.

 _No, you can't be late to work._

 _And when you get to work, you can't go in his office and sit in his lap and kiss him and be kissed by him and feel those hands moving on your body or put your hands on his._

 _You may not touch his skin or run your fingers through his soft hair or stare into his gorgeous blue eyes or take your clothes off at his desk._

"That really sucks," she told the room.

She remembered her moments of sudden certainty that it was about Marlowe the whole time—that he had been dreaming of her, that his good morning was to the previous blonde in his life—but when he took hold of her arm and spun her around and used that smoky steel voice to say what he said...

" _I haven't been thinking about anyone but you for a long time."_

... Juliet sighed. Shivered.

Loved him.

When she finally hauled her ass into gear and made it back down to her kitchen, her phone was blinking on the counter top. Three new texts, several minutes apart.

 _Did I imagine any of that?_

 _Or are you packing your things to leave town?_

 _Now is not a good time for you to have even a legitimate reason to be away from the phone. :-)_

He rarely used smiley-faces unless he was retreating or nervous or embarrassed. Juliet typed as fast as she could.

 _You imagined nothing. I was upstairs trying not to lose my mind._

Now it was her turn to wait, and the two minutes seemed interminable. She couldn't even function enough to figure out where she'd put her keys, the keys she had just used a short time ago to drive her car back here and let herself into her own damn apartment.

 _Stoplight text. Don't tell the cops. You kiss wonderfully._

The trembling started again, and she smiled at the screen.

 _So do you. We'll have to try that again sometime._

 _Yes we will, my dear. Very soon._

Juliet let out a profound and shaky sigh.

 _Yes please, my darling._

. . . . .

. . . .


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

No sooner did Carlton walk into the station than Sergeant Allen thrust a stack of messages at him, and at the same time, his phone rang with the tone he'd reserved for the Mayor ("You're No Good" by Linda Ronstadt, although sometimes he switched it out with "Pray For You" by Jaron & The Long Road because the lyrics never failed to make him smirk, which correspondingly improved his mood before dealing with the man in question).

Not that he needed his mood improved this morning; in fact, he hadn't even lost his cool when another parent at the daycare cut him off and dented his bumper and made him late to the station to begin with.

"Lassiter," he said briskly, still walking, noting Brannigan aiming herself at him.

"I want you on this personally," Swaggerty barked.

"Not a problem, Mayor. I'll call you with an update shortly." He disconnected and headed into his office, Brannigan following. "Okay, what's the crisis?"

She had a folder from which she read the pertinent info. "Tanner Kingsley was discovered dead in his study this morning. Head injury. Units on scene say it looks suspicious. I've already intercepted Edwin and Juliet to go straight there, and I'd like to head out myself."

"Then we ride together, Brannigan, because Swaggerty wants me on the scene too."

"I'll bring the car around, Chief." She flew out, and he took a quick look at his other messages, while checking out Tanner Kingsley as well. He knew of the man as a philanthropist who'd retired after making his fortune in real estate. No trouble with the law, no red flags by his name. Married, adult children. Big mansion by the sea. He'd donated generously to Swaggerty's last election campaign, which probably explained the mayor's call.

He didn't feel like ousting Brannigan from the driver's seat ( _why, could you perchance be_ mellow _, Lassiter? Hmmm?_ ), and allowed himself to remember kissing Juliet on the way over to the Kingsley property, because... because he _wanted_ to, and it wasn't as if he could stop the thoughts anyway.

Brannigan glanced at him. "Are you all right, Chief?"

He frowned at her. "Yes, why?"

"Well, you didn't have time to get any coffee, the Mayor himself called you in, and yet you seem un-homicidal."

Carlton chuckled, and this made her eyes grow very wide indeed. "Relax, Brannigan. I had a cup on the way to the station, so I'm good for awhile."

He wasn't even annoyed by her obvious sigh of relief, such was the awesome power of kisses from Juliet.

The Kingsley house was, of course, huge; a sprawling structure with palm trees galore. Within sight of the ocean, it featured a long curving driveway behind a tall iron gate, and two of his uniformed officers were manning it at the moment.

Inside the cool, arched-ceiling foyer, he was met by McNab; beyond him down an expensively-tiled hall he spotted his lovely, golden, kissable Juliet—whom he had _thoroughly_ kissed earlier today—in the doorway to what he presumed must be the study; she was talking to someone he couldn't see. Someone she _hadn't_ kissed that morning.

"Who are the players?"

McNab consulted his notebook. "Mrs. Tabitha Kingsley, the second wife, aged 36. His son Everett, 40, and his daughters Marcella and Avery, aged 34 and 38. Avery's husband Simon. They were all in the house last night. Marcella discovered the body this morning. There are other spouses and grandchildren, but none of them were here overnight. The first responders already checked video footage of the main and back gates. A butler and housekeeper live here too. We have them all in the grand dining room."

Carlton repeated dubiously, "The _grand_ dining room?"

McNab grinned. "There's a 'regular' dining room too."

"Of course there is. Did you say the wife is 36? Kingsley's in his late sixties, right?" After McNab nodded, he said, "What became of wife number one, and how do the juniors feel about number two?"

"It seems a bit... volatile," McNab admitted.

"My favorite," Carlton muttered, then went down the hall to the study. Juliet gave him a smile, and if his hand happened to brush against her hand as he passed, well... _suck it, world, because I got to kiss her this morning and you didn't_.

Kingsley lay face up on the floor midway between his cherry wood desk and matching coffee table. Carlton made a cursory inspection and could plainly see a large wound at the side of the man's head, with plenty of blood pooled on the tile around him.

The room appeared to be tidy, with no signs of a disturbance, and Juliet stepped up beside him to say they hadn't found any obvious blunt instrument, although the room was certainly full of possibilities via small statues, heavy bookends and other easily-heftable objects.

The fingerprinters were at work as she added, "That rug by the desk interests me."

Her _nearness_ interested him, but despite that, he followed her gaze: it was an Oriental rug, as long as the desk and about two feet wide. A matching rug lay on the floor on the other side of the desk, and a narrower, longer version graced the area immediately in front of the desk. Seemed an odd placement for floor coverings, but rich people were weird.

Well, he amended, all people were weird.

What Juliet had noticed, he noticed too: the rug on the right side, closest to the body, was askew. He bent down to take a look and figured out it probably slid pretty easily on the tile floor, since it had no non-slip backing.

They stood together and surveyed the path Kingsley might have taken, and from there, it was relatively easy to spot traces of some substance on the corner of the coffee table beyond. Blood or skin; hard to tell. One of the techs went to photograph it and take samples.

Carlton said it first. "Tripped on the rug? Or it slid. He falls forward, hits his head on the corner of the table, bounces back and rolls over."

Juliet shrugged. "Sounds right to me."

He gave her a glance. "Not very interesting as rich family drama goes."

She grinned. "Cheer up. He might have been pushed."

"That's the spirit. Do we have a time of death yet?" Kingsley was fully dressed, and to Carlton's seasoned eye, had not died this morning.

"No, but the son-in-law Simon Beckham said that's what he was wearing last night."

Brannigan joined them and confirmed that the first responders were positive, according to video footage, that everyone in the dining room had been on the property all night long. She took a quick look at the body. "Huh. Did he trip? Or was he maybe pushed?"

Carlton muttered to Juliet, "Now you know why we didn't need Spencer anymore."

He heard her laugh softly as he left in search of the grand dining room.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet followed Carlton into the room at Brannigan's direction, armed with her notebook (and hardly at all distracted by the man she'd finally gotten to kiss and whom she hoped very very much to kiss again in the very near future).

The people waiting for them were tense. Uniformly tense.

She deduced Tabitha Kingsley, the new widow, was the pale brunette, her face streaked with tears, a handkerchief twisted in her grip.

Carlton drew their attention as soon as he strode in. "I'm Chief Lassiter and this is Detective O'Hara. I'm sorry for your loss, but obviously we have some questions. Would you all introduce yourselves please?"

The taller man took the lead. "Everett Kingsley. I'm his son. This is my sister Marcella Kingsley," he said, gesturing to a brittle blonde, "and my other sister Avery Beckham." Avery nodded, and Juliet judged the shade of red in her hair as unlikely to occur in nature.

"This is my husband Simon," Avery said faintly, in turn gesturing to the thin sandy-haired man at her side.

Everett indicated the other couple, both gray-haired and sturdy, identifying them as the housekeeper and butler.

"And you were all in the house last night?"

"Yes," Everett said. "Marcella found him this morning."

Marcella let out a hitching sort of sigh.

Tabitha wiped her eyes, and Juliet dearly hoped everyone could hold it together for a little longer. She noted the glances the others gave Tabitha; they were upset too but they seemed—minus the staff—to have no sympathy for their young stepmother.

She also noted Marcella giving Carlton a once-over, and on the one hand she couldn't blame her—tall striking man with those bodaciously blue eyes—but on the other hand she might have to cuff her if she kept that up.

Carlton asked the questions they were expecting him to ask and learned what they did not expect him to learn, simply by their body language and tone of voice; Juliet could still read his mind when they were working.

He asked about the odd placement of rugs around the desk, and Marcella explained that breezes from the windows would blow Tanner's papers awry, which would then slide across the tile floor, so he'd recently put the rugs down in hopes of keeping some papers closer. It was practical, Juliet supposed, but then again, paperweights would have worked too. Rich people were weird—she could almost hear Carlton thinking it.

At any rate, it was clear the siblings loved their father and disliked Tabitha and that Tabitha loved her husband and felt isolated from his children. The staff were neutral but she suspected they both liked Tabitha and thought the siblings were buttheads toward her.

Carlton wanted to speak to Tabitha alone first. While he and Juliet sat down with her at the grand dining table, McNab kept the siblings and staff together at the far, far, _far_ end of the grand room.

Tabitha was still pulling at her hankie and trying not to cry, but looked at Carlton wearily. "I know I'm suspect number one."

"You assume he was murdered?" he asked neutrally.

Her green eyes flickered. "Are you saying he wasn't? Please say he wasn't."

"That's what we're here to find out," Carlton assured her. "If he _was_ murdered, would you like to theorize as to who might have done it?"

Tabitha sniffled again. "In this house? No one, really."

Carlton raised one dark brow. "It's not exactly difficult to spot the family tension, Mrs. Kingsley."

"Oh," she countered mildly, "but _I'm_ not part of the family. _They're_ thick as thieves, and they all loved Tanner. I loved Tanner. _Everyone_ loved Tanner. If he had enemies, _they_ probably loved him too."

He eyed her. "No disrespect, but that seems—"

"I know it's hard to believe. But Tanner was a really nice guy. He was good to everyone, and although his children treat _me_ like crap, they're even mostly nice." She offered a half-smile. "To other people, that is. I know they're all telling your detectives that I'm a demoness."

Carlton gave her a half-smile back. " _Are_ you a demoness?"

"No. I'm pretty ordinary." It didn't sound like false humility, either, and Juliet prided herself on being able to read women better than Carlton, despite his impressive skill-set.

"So they hate you because?"

"Chief Lassiter, look around. I'm the younger second wife. I _must_ be evil. How else could I have supplanted their darling mother?" The question came with more than a touch of bitterness.

Juliet asked carefully, "Since you brought her up, what's the story there?"

Tabitha sighed. "He and Christine were married thirty years, and unhappy for most of that time. She filed for divorce four years ago. He says the split was amicable and he was ready for it. But they all think he left her for me."

Carlton asked her why they thought that. Juliet wondered too—while she was a pretty woman, she didn't come across as either bombshell or sex kitten.

"Because I knew him—rather, I was _acquainted_ with him—before that. I worked in his Ventura office years ago, in my twenties. He came in a few times a year and we had a few conversations, nothing personal. Just friendly conversation. I liked him a lot but, you know, he was married and honestly, he never seemed to be flirting with me. I certainly wasn't flirting with _him_ , because he was _married_."

"So when did you actually start a relationship?" Juliet pressed. Something about this was hitting a little too close to home.

"After they divorced. I'd left his company and came to work for one of his competitors here in Santa Barbara. We met up at a convention six months after his divorce was final and…" Tabitha sighed, smiling a bit. "And six months after that, _we_ were married."

 _Yeah, too close to home._

Carlton nodded. "But his kids think you were involved all along and that you somehow caused the divorce."

His tone was laced with something Juliet bet Tabitha couldn't pick up, but she knew it all too well: this was hitting close to home for him too.

"Money-grubbing demoness," she agreed wearily. "That's me."

"It must have been hard for him too," Juliet said slowly.

 _Remember, this is an investigation, not a look at parallels with your own life._

 _And further remember that so far all that's happened between you and Carlton is a lovely long kissing session, no matter your schoolgirl dreams._

Tabitha nodded. "To have his children and friends doubt him. To have to wonder if his ex thought the worst of him too. It was hard for both of us. I hated that we couldn't just be happy together. I hated how it looked and that who we were as _people_ didn't count for anything. He hated that I was thought of so badly."

Juliet glanced at Carlton, her mind racing ahead to a future where going public with the relationship she very much hoped they were about to start began to cost _him_. To hurt _him_.

He was hard to read at the moment, his crystal blue eyes fixed on Tabitha, but she had a feeling... a feeling. _Damn it._

Finally he asked, "Who stood to benefit the most from your husband's death?"

"Well—"

She was interrupted by the arrival of a man who reeked of Expensive Attorney. Everett and Marcella broke free of McNab and went to him immediately, and Carlton and Juliet both rose to see who the interloper was.

"Whitney Adler," the man said upon Carlton's testy inquiry. "Mr. Kingsley's personal attorney. Can you tell me what's happened here?"

"Yes, I can, but it's unlikely that I will."

Marcella snapped, "This man is a trusted advisor for all of us."

Juliet could tell Carlton was valiantly resisting rolling his eyes. "I'm sure he is, Ms. Kingsley, but it's not his _turn_. However, since he _is_ here, let's find out who had the most to gain from your father's death." He focused his attention back on the attorney. "Well?"

"We all know," Everett interrupted hotly. "It was _her_. Tabitha."

Carlton scowled. "Did I ask you? No. I asked _him_." Again he looked at Adler.

But _again_ a sibling interrupted: this time Avery, joining the melee to sob, "She took our mother and father from us!"

Juliet knew these people were all past their mid-thirties—not exactly street orphans, stress notwithstanding.

From the table, Tabitha called out, "Yes, yes, I'm responsible for all the evils in the world."

Avery and Marcella both started to snap at her. "Everyone be _quiet_ ," Carlton commanded. "Mr. Adler, who profits from Kingsley's death, regardless of how it occurred?"

"We know how it occurred!" Marcella again, on the edge of hysteria. "I saw him! I saw his bloody head! She hit him with something, knocked him down—left him for dead! She married him for his money and—"

Avery took up the torch. "She'd been lying in wait for years. There's no way she wasn't moving on him long before he left Mamma."

"He didn't leave her," Tabitha protested. "She left _him_!"

Everett yelled, "Because of you!"

"Enough!" Carlton roared, and the room went satisfactorily silent; Juliet couldn't help but smirk just the littlest bit. "Mr. Adler, and _only_ Mr. Adler, please answer the question! Who profits the most by Kingsley's death?"

Adler seemed more bemused than anything else. "Ah... actually, they all profit equally."

There was a chorus of "What?" all around, but Juliet noted Tabitha's expression was a different kind of shock.

"Tanner changed his will two years ago to split his estate evenly among his children and his wife."

"But..." Tabitha seemed confused.

Avery pounced. "You thought you'd get it all, didn't you, you gold—"

"No," Adler interjected. "When he came to me, he said Tabitha emphatically did not want any part of his estate so long as she knew his children all—if you'll pardon my bluntness—hated her. But he told me he couldn't bear the thought of excluding her, so he was going against her wishes. In addition, there is a fund set aside for Christine Kingsley, who, if I might confirm, did in fact leave him, and not vice-versa."

Juliet liked this guy, and a glance at Carlton told her he did too.

The siblings were all staring at Tabitha. Tabitha wiped her eyes one last time and stood up. "You all assumed the worst of me from the beginning. For that matter, you assumed the worst of your father. You should be ashamed for doubting him. I know how it looked. I'm sure lots of people outside the family thought the same thing—out with the old wife, in with the new one. But you couldn't even trust your own father. You see why I didn't want any part of the estate?"

Everett put his hand up to his eyes briefly, sighing. Juliet hoped he had a sudden-regret migraine.

Walking around to where her silent stepchildren stood, Tabitha continued coolly. "There's a part of me which wants to tell Mr. Adler here to take my share and donate it to the charities you hate the most. But instead I'll accept it, and apply it toward your half-sister's upbringing." She put her hand on her faintly-rounded stomach so they could all catch her meaning.

Stares. Silence.

 _Most satisfactory_ , Juliet thought.

To Carlton, Tabitha said, "May I please be excused for a short while?"

The siblings were still silent, pale and apparently gobsmacked.

Carlton nodded to Juliet, who escorted her out of the room.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Woody Strode appeared in Carlton's doorway near the end of the day. "Chief? Preliminary results on Tanner Kingsley for you."

Carlton gestured for him to come in. "Let's hear it."

"For the boy!" Woody smiled hugely.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I thought we were doing that song-title game."

"What—never mind. Results, please."

"Kingsley's head wound, compared to the biological material found on the coffee table corner—skin, blood, etc.—seems to be a result of a hard collision with that table. I'm going to do more tests and study the crime scene photos again but I don't really have any doubt about this."

Carlton nodded. "Our working theory was that the rug tripped him up somehow and he pitched forward and hit the table."

"Yep. Non-skid backings are so important," he tsked.

"Accidental death. No way the wound was caused by some other object?"

"If so, it had to be something shaped pretty much like the sharp corner of a coffee table." Woody blinked. "Unless you think someone picked the table up to hit him with it?"

Carlton sighed. "Would you believe Andre The Giant was in the neighborhood randomly throwing tables at people?"

Woody was shocked. "But he's such a sweetheart!"

"He's also dead, Strode."

"Oh my God! Who killed him?"

"You're excused, Strode."

Woody went out shaking his head. Carlton stayed at his desk and rubbed his.

They'd stayed at the house long enough to question everyone about every damned thing in the world, but even without Woody's results he'd been sure all day that this was a simple accident. If the siblings believed Tabitha would be the sole inheritor, they'd have kept their father alive forever—or eliminated _her_ : no motive to kill Tanner.

As for Tabitha, she either believed Tanner had honored her request to leave her out of the will—hence no motive—or knew he had redone the will and she would only have an equal share: either way, she was better off staying married to him and reaping a long life of wealth as his wife—and mother of his new child. No motive.

The other possibility was an argument which might have led to someone striking him, but the room showed no signs of a struggle. If someone lunged at him or pushed him and he ended up hitting his head on the table while the lunger fled, it was still, ultimately, an accident, although there would always be the question of whether a call to 911 might have spared his life. But why would anyone run from the room and leave him to die when it looked like an accident?

Murder just didn't track. He was satisfied with this conclusion; so was Juliet, and Brannigan's preternatural read of the scene combined with what they told her about the players made it unanimous.

"R.I.P. Tanner Kingsley," he said aloud, and called the mayor.

Ten minutes later he was in the car on his way to collect Lilly, and finally allowed himself to think about the way Tabitha's story resonated within his own life.

This morning's unspoken—but plentifully kissed—milestone with Juliet had left him feeling they might be well on their way to a lovely, lovely place. But amongst his long-brewing daydreams, he'd never completely put aside his awareness of the _complications_ of getting to such a lovely place.

She worked for him, although fortunately Brannigan stood between them administratively. They'd been partnered for years prior to her departure for San Francisco, and he knew all too well how things might look—because he was a _cop_ , damn him, trained to _examine_ how things looked—to less open-minded people: she comes back to work for him as his divorce is being made known? She rents a house just three blocks from his? She quickly becomes part of his life with Lilly?

The truth might not stand a chance. And Juliet might get hurt, professionally as well as personally, by speculation about her.

He could handle speculation about himself. He'd never met a personal catastrophe he couldn't steel-jaw, stiff-upper-lip his way through. He and bad impressions were on a first-name basis. But the idea of Juliet hurt... that was another ball-game entirely.

Then there was, again, Lilly.

He let out a breath and re-focused his thoughts.

 _Get your daughter home, get dinner, get on with life. One day at a freakin' time._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet set out for Carlton's house on foot. It was half-past eight and darkness was settling in, so she knew he would have Lilly in bed, or nearly so.

She stopped at the back gate and got out her phone to call him.

"Juliet," he answered right away. "I was just about to call you."

"Good. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"

He hesitated. "Sure. Lilly's down for the night. Do you—"

"I'm out back. May I let myself in?"

She distinctly heard his intake of breath, but this couldn't wait. It couldn't.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

She didn't have to use her key; Carlton opened the door as she reached toward the knob.

"Hi," he said quietly, with a small smile.

His eyes reflected his uncertainty, but at least he'd said yes to her request.

"Hi." She stepped in past him, waiting while he relocked the door, and when he gestured toward the living room she went on ahead.

Carlton remained standing after she took a seat in the middle of his sofa; she asked him to sit, and even from how he settled next to her, she knew he was uneasy about what she had to say.

Once he was close, Juliet grasped his hand with hers. "Tabitha got to you today."

Carlton didn't move, but his fingers tensed.

She held on tighter. "It's okay. She got to me too."

Still he just watched her, trying to read her—Juliet knew that look of old.

"It was so hard for them. You heard what she said."

Carlton said abruptly, "You don't want a repeat of what happened between us this morning."

She'd been afraid he might think that. She was afraid he'd spent the last few hours trying to convince himself this morning had been a mistake.

"Actually," she said gently, "I want many, _many_ repeats of what happened between us this morning."

Now his eyes widened—so beautiful, that clear blue. Her heart fluttered with hope.

"Carlton, I know this is scary. For both of us." She squeezed his warm hand, willing him to relax. "I talked to Tabitha for a few minutes up in her room. I had to ask her if she wished she hadn't gotten involved with him. If there was anything she'd have done differently."

She really, really hoped Carlton started breathing again soon.

"What did she say?" His voice was husky.

Juliet smiled. "She said of course not. She said with a house that big, they could go for days without seeing his children, and they enjoyed every bit of their time together. She admitted to being a little concerned about how his kids would treat her baby, and said with her share of the estate she'd be able to move out and raise her child where there was no one to judge them." Cautiously, she put her free hand up to touch his warm face. It was impossible not to touch him now.

She could still see the smile on Tabitha's face. _"Just to be with him," she said, "in our little cocoon, was always perfect. I honestly believed we were everything to each other. I can't imagine ever having that kind of connection with anyone else."_

And that, as it turned out, was the only thing Juliet's heart needed to hear.

Carlton sighed, bringing his hand up to caress hers. "I don't want you hurt by anyone's asshat assumptions."

This was where she would have to make him understand her. "And I don't want _you_ hurt. Or Lilly. But—"

"I can handle what people think of me, Juliet. I've been doing that my whole life. But I don't want to ask you to—"

She cut him off. "You're not asking. I _volunteer_. And I'm a lot tougher than I look."

"That I know," he agreed with a faint smile. "But—"

Juliet leaned in and kissed his face, slipping her fingers into his hair, feeling his shiver. "We're just getting started. Please give this a chance."

He gazed at her solemnly, and yet this was one those times when she could not read him at all.

"Please," she whispered. "My darling."

At her final words, Carlton sighed again, and the blue of his eyes showed the start of acceptance. He leaned in to kiss her softly. "I was trying to figure out how to ask if _you'd_ give this a chance."

She smiled against his warm lips. "I give it every chance."

He kissed her again, slowly and savoringly, and Juliet curled herself against his warm lean body, letting him wrap her up in his arms.

"Just... maybe quietly," he added. "For a while. For all of us. Lilly too."

Even for Marlowe. Juliet remembered their conversation before she left town—Marlowe saying " _I trust in your friendship, your partnership, your..._ connection _with Carlton. Wherever it's been and wherever it may eventually go_ "—it was almost a blessing, but who could say for sure how she'd react to a romantic relationship between them?

Juliet nodded. "Yes, of course. You've only been divorced four months. I work for you. We don't want to hurt anyone, whether it's Lilly or Marlowe, and neither of us exactly wants trouble on our professional plates. Have I left anything out?"

Carlton brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch making her tingle. "I'm older, and people still remember I was involved with Barry during my first marriage."

Juliet realized this was the first time he'd ever acknowledged his affair with Lucinda Barry to her.

 _And it simply didn't matter._

"That was over a decade ago, you'd been separated for two years, and from what I heard, the entire station had a pretty low opinion of Victoria anyway."

He frowned. "What they thought of her doesn't make it right that I—"

"No, I mean I don't think anyone had the idea that you were some cheating bastard, and you know what? That really was so long ago and we're dealing with _now_. Us. You and me. And Lilly. That's what counts. What you think about _that_."

He pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "God, Juliet, if it's not too selfish of me to ask if we can keep this discreet as long as possible, then—then what I think is best summed up with 'yes.' And..." He tilted her chin, his fingertips so warm, and kissed her, "That." Then he kissed her again, more sensuously.

Juliet returned the kisses, all of them, and sighed out her agreement of his 'yes.' She murmured that if it was all right, she might stay a little longer than the few minutes she'd originally asked for.

He agreed, and the kissing continued.

There was more to be said. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but maybe he had enough to think about already. Perhaps she did too.

And besides, the _kissing_ was so very damnably, wonderfully distracting.

Masterful kissing, it was. Everything about kissing Carlton Lassiter was stunningly good—the way he nipped at her lips with his teeth, and how his tongue moved against her, even the way he breathed and how she could feel his pulse racing when her mouth moved to his throat.

His hair was soft and thick and she traced the planes of his face with shaking hands because she was really here, in his arms, and she couldn't complete a thought because he kissed her again and again.

They lay entwined on the sofa, wrapped close, and still there was so much kissing to be done, and she loved all of it.

With a possessive growl, he asked if he should obtain consent to touch her breast since apparently he'd failed to do that in his sleep, and Juliet granted this request, laughing up until the moment his warm hand was under her shirt moving inexorably toward her bra.

When his fingers slipped beneath her bra and touched her bare nipple, she arched up involuntarily. Oh, consent given gladly.

Carlton's eyes were the shade of wicked midnight sensuality, and there was nothing in the crayon box for that, she thought crazily. He lifted her shirt, pushed the unresisting bra aside, and put his hot mouth directly to her skin.

She moaned—couldn't help it. His tongue on her nipple was maddening and now every part of her body wanted him everywhere in every way.

The bra came off.

Carlton captured her arms and held them up over her head, his mouth moving between her breasts as he explored them. She had a feeling he'd wanted to do this for a long time, and that was fine with her because she'd had plenty of erotic imaginings about him over the past few months. Maybe even while they were partners.

His lower body pinned hers in place but she was not still, grinding up against him, feeling his growing need.

 _This is probably happening too soon_ , a weak little voice advised her. _But then again, maybe I should shut up._

Carlton groaned, pressing himself to her, lifting his head from her breasts and gazing at her hungrily.

His smoky voice was as erotic as the rest of him.

"We either stop now, or we go until dawn."

Juliet freed one arm and threaded her fingers in his hair as she whispered, "Dawn, please."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

In another life he'd have carried her up the stairs, but reality and practicality won out. He turned off lights and locked up while Juliet went on ahead, and if he was trembling a little when he came back from a peek inside sleeping Lilly's room to find Juliet lying on his bed—clearly still wanting him—well, he was entitled.

She watched him, her dark blue eyes showing great interest, as he closed the door and pulled off his shirt. She sat up as he unzipped his pants, and by the time he joined her on the bed, she was nude and so was he.

Her body was so soft, curving everywhere it should, warm and silky and his.

This morning they'd kissed for the first time. _Could that be true?_ Yet being here with her now, intimate and about to become lovers, seemed like a perfectly natural progression to a perfectly fantastical place, a place made just for them, a place they'd earned. Or been blessed with. He didn't know. He couldn't think anymore.

They lay together, kissing, adapting to the feel of each other. Carlton reached back to turn off the lamp, but light from the streetlamp outside gave a faint glow to the room and he didn't need anything more than that to learn about her.

Juliet moved so seductively against him, and he let her hands go wandering along his flesh.

Her mouth too, after she rolled him over and straddled him. Caressing his chest with her fingers, bending to kiss him everywhere she could reach, while his erection made itself known between them.

She got to know that too before too long, and he had no words to describe how utterly wicked and delicious her mouth felt on his hot skin.

Fingers, lips, tongue everywhere. He let her find her way until he could take no more.

It was his turn to explore her body, and he used his time well. Juliet was moaning softly—almost bucking underneath him—and when his tongue reached that spot he'd dreamed of for so long, she gasped, writhed and pulled a pillow over her head to muffle what seemed to be some considerably louder indications of intense pleasure.

Carlton was too busy to laugh. There was so much to learn and taste and love, and when her last muffled gasps and spasms told him he'd achieved one goal, he moved up her warm, anxious, soft body, pulled the pillow away and kissed her hard. Devouring her.

She reciprocated, and urged him inside her, clamping her legs around his thighs, until there was complete connection, deep and delicious and perfect.

Hard breathing, punctuated by ravenous kisses, as he plundered her, the woman he'd loved for years.

The woman who had held his heart before he knew it could even beat again.

Juliet. His Juliet. Plundering him just as fiercely, kissing him with voracious hunger. His Juliet.

At least until dawn, she was his Juliet.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet woke, again on her side, again in Carlton's bed.

Again with his hand on her breast.

But this time there was no cloth barrier.

This time the chest she could feel against her back was bare, and the heat from his body warmed and aroused her.

This time, he was her lover.

She smiled, feeling very good and hopeful, and when his fingers again twitched in the vicinity of her nipple, she felt even more aroused.

Her watch said it was just past five a.m. Her memory said dawn was still forty-five minutes away.

She grasped his hand gently and slid it down her abdomen, and he was fully awake soon after that, sighing into her hair and taking on the task she'd assigned to him.

"Good morning, my dear," he whispered, fingers busy already.

"Mmmm... yes," she sighed, feeling waves of pleasure building fast.

Carlton kept stroking her, and between them she could feel his erection. All good.

He kissed her throat and her shoulders, and Juliet shivered, finding no reason to protest when he rolled her onto her back and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

They were joined again before long, Juliet straddling her long lean luscious man, gazing blindly into his crystal blue eyes, seeing the heat and feeling the emotion along with a myriad of priceless, mindless sensations.

If Tabitha had this with Tanner, no wonder she had no regrets despite how his children treated her.

And it was all insane, of course, she thought a little while later when the storm had expended itself and she lay quietly in Carlton's warm embrace. But it also felt so right.

"Glad we had that little talk last night," he said casually.

Juliet laughed. "Me too."

"Hope you didn't leave your oven on. I know you expected to get home quick."

She laughed again, teasing his chest with her fingers. "No, I prepared for the possibility you'd be a sweet talker."

He snorted. "Yeah… that's what everyone says about me."

"I believe it." She kissed his chin, and then his cheek, and then his nose, and then he took control and kissed her full-on, and for a few minutes she was certain they were headed back to a very wicked place.

"Dammit," he sighed, "the alarm is going off in one—" He was interrupted by the clock's soft buzz. "See?"

She wrapped her arms around him. "You want me to sneak out?"

"No, I want you to go work the treadmill for me—preferably nude—while I watch." His grin was salacious.

"Declined. But I could lie here and watch you—"

"Declined," he interrupted, still grinning.

"How about I borrow your shower so I can skulk back home in last night's clothes while you do all the sensible dad things you normally do?"

"How about we shower together?"

Juliet looked at him, suddenly breathless, because he honestly had no idea how sexy and irresistible he was. "Um... if I say yes, I doubt you'll get any sensible dad things done."

Carlton gave her a slow and decadent smile. "You're probably right. Get out, hussy. I'll work off my lust on the treadmill."

She hoped it wouldn't be _that_ easy.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

When Juliet came out of the bathroom, dressed and damp-haired, Carlton stopped the treadmill and pinned her against the wall, not that she protested. In fact for a few minutes he was sure he was the one pinned, such was her grip on him.

"I should go," she said with difficulty, but he was pretty sure her heart wasn't in it, because her tongue was back in his mouth.

He'd pulled on his shorts before boarding the treadmill, but her hands were tugging at his waistband, so he felt no hesitation about unzipping her jeans and exploring.

"You should," he said with equal difficulty when she put her head back against the wall, reacting to his fingers. She smelled so good—clean and fragrant and sex-tastic—and he wanted her.

"Gaaah," she moaned, and pushed him back toward the bed. "Do me and do me fast." She was already yanking his shorts down.

Carlton could not say no to a woman in need, but she currently had him in a position where he couldn't take the lead. "What the hell happened in that shower?" he gasped when her mouth closed around his flesh.

"Stuff," she said succinctly, and he lay back.

Yeah, stuff.

She left the bedroom twenty minutes later, flushed and disheveled and gorgeous and not even annoyed that she'd have to shower again when she got home.

Carlton lay on his bed, panting.

 _Dear God._

And this was just the start.

Somehow he got himself together, decided he'd had enough cardiovascular activity this morning to justify skipping the rest of his treadmill time, had his own shower, and dressed without incident.

Down the hall in Lilly's doorway, he took another moment to remember how "to adult" before waking his little girl.

While she had gotten over—for now—her upset about Marlowe leaving again, she was in a foul mood this morning, but it didn't faze him at all.

She didn't want to get dressed, and he wasn't fazed at all.

She knocked over her breakfast bowl and wailed, and he wasn't fazed at all.

He hummed as he cleaned up the spilled milk and scattered cereal, and after a bit, realized Lilly was humming too.

Lilly grinned, asked for more cereal, and gave him a big hug when he told her she needed to apologize for being so grumpy.

Standing at the sink, while Lilly worked on her new bowl of cereal, he stood and watched her, momentarily befuddled by how in the hell it was possible that he—of all people—had gotten to the point where this little girl was his. Where Juliet, beautiful smart kick-ass Juliet, wanted _him_. Where he had somehow become _that guy_ who was on the verge of having everything he'd never expected—despite two divorces, a lousy upbringing, professional roadblocks.

He had no choice to conclude that not only did miracles happen, but sometimes they might even happen to him.

Or—and he couldn't rule this out—he was completely nuts.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Her mind was going in circles.

Pleasant circles, but far too many to keep her head straight.

The workday was nearing its end. She had steered clear of Carlton, and he'd steered clear of her. For her part, it was simple awareness that if she got too close to him, there was no frickin' way she wasn't going to burst into flames.

He texted her once from his office, midday. _I am going crazy._

That didn't help, now, did it? She fired back: _Save me a seat if you get there first_.

For the first time she cursed the placement of her desk—directly facing his windows—because she could see him in there. See him and _not_ _have_ him.

And she really really wanted to have him.

This morning he'd asked " _What the hell happened in that shower?_ " and the answer was she'd been overloaded with memories of the night once she was under the stream of water, and his suggestion about joining her had re-fired her need for him. So when she returned to the bedroom and saw him shirtless and sexy in the moments before he was on her, hot and close and needful, well, yeah. There _had_ to be a reckoning. Duh?

 _Be practical, girl. He has a very young daughter, and you can't exactly move in just at the moment._

Juliet sighed profoundly, and her phone buzzed.

 _Would you come over for dinner tonight?_

 _Yes._

 _And maybe possibly stay?_

 _Yes._

 _Thank God._

She smiled. And thrummed.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Lilly was in bed—excited to have Juliet there for dinner, but fortunately still tired enough at her bedtime to not resist keeping to her routine. Juliet was now curled up against her warm, warm Carlton on the sofa in the living room.

As much as she'd wanted him all day long—and knew full well he'd wanted her—just being with him now, alone, was a lovely tonic. There was plenty of time for everything else.

He stroked her hair gently. "I'm having a hard time believing that we're here like this. Just two nights ago I never thought—" But he trailed off.

"Never?" she teased.

Carlton smiled. "Okay, maybe I hoped. But that it would happen so fast? I never expected that."

"Me either. I thought I'd have to inch you along incrementally."

His laughter was a pleasant rumble. "You know me. Resistant to all good things."

Juliet patted his chest. "That's what I'm here for. To break down your resistance."

"Job well done." He tilted her head up and gave her a slow kiss. "Very well done."

"I thought so."

With the tip of his tongue he traced her lips, and she had just parted them to invite a deeper kiss when his phone trilled from the kitchen.

"Ahhh," she said disappointedly. "My bad luck being the Chief's main squeeze."

Carlton laughed as he disentangled from her. "Price of glory, sweetheart."

She got comfortable while he went to find out who was so rudely demanding his attention, but stopped in mid-pillow-fluff when she heard him say Marlowe's name.

Normally he and Marlowe spoke only briefly on Sundays, either before or after her calls to Lilly.

But that was the answer, she guessed: Marlowe might be checking on Lilly after this week's drama.

His voice rose—not in volume, exactly, but in frustration? Exasperation? No... hell with it; she got up to go see for herself.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Marlowe, you need to trust me. Yes, she was very upset on Tuesday but she's fine now. She's as back to normal as she can be."

Juliet leaned in the doorway, waiting for a cue that she should leave, but Carlton glanced at her and only rolled his eyes a little, so she advanced to sit near him at the head of the table.

It was a good excuse to study him, anyway; she liked his face and his eyes and his hair and...

"I think that's a bad idea," he said emphatically. "You wanted—you _needed_ —this trip for a long time and I think you'll regret cutting it short."

She didn't like the sound of this.

"No," he persisted. "Look. You needed to see her and you both had a great time. She was upset when you left, which was inevitable, and she was upset because I wasn't home that night, which was also inevitable, but she's better now."

For a few moments he listened, then shoved his hand through his hair, and Juliet knew he was getting agitated himself.

"I told you. I got home about one in the morning. Juliet was with her—you knew that. She said Lilly had a bad night, and unfortunately she woke up when I tried to get her into her bed and had another meltdown. We got her settled and that's all of it, Marlowe. I'm not hiding anything from you about her well-being. I _wouldn't_."

That last part came out with more than a little annoyance, and Juliet couldn't help but reach out and clasp his hand. He looked full at her, and she marveled at how much anger he _wasn't_ revealing to Marlowe, judging by his return grip, if not the blaze in his eyes.

"Okay. Good." He took a deep breath. "Give this time. Call her as usual on Sunday. See how she is, and I'll tell you exactly what I see on this end after the call's over. If I see any signs that you should come back early, I will tell you. You have my word."

Pause.

Clenched jaw, but admirably neutral tone: "You shouldn't have to _ask_ me to promise. We're talking about our _daughter_."

Juliet realized she was holding her breath.

Finally he relaxed—including his hold on her hand. "All right. Same time. We'll talk after that."

The call ended, he set the phone on the table and stared at Juliet. "She feels so guilty about Lilly being upset that she wants to come back to Santa Barbara _now_."

"And so guilty that she doubts you too?" Juliet shook her head. "That's not fair. And it's a little sad. I mean, I get the guilt factor even if I don't agree with it, but still."

From the kitchen counter, her phone rang; Carlton reached back for it with one long arm and handed it to her, too preoccupied to be annoyed by yet another interruption.

Juliet glanced at the screen. "I don't know this number." She showed him.

He snapped, "Dammit, that's Marlowe. Don't you answer it."

She was startled but knew he was wrong this time. "I _have_ to answer it, Carlton. Just be quiet."

He hushed, grudgingly. If he were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears.

"Hello?"

"Juliet? This is Marlowe Lassiter. Have you got a minute?"

"Sure! How are you?" Even if she hadn't already known from Carlton, just those opening words revealed a certain level of stress.

"Um, listen, I wanted to check up on Lilly. I know she was really unhappy when I dropped her off at the daycare on Tuesday. You picked her up, right?"

"Yes," she said. "Of course I did." _You know damned well I did._ "And yes, she was still upset, but from what I hear, she's fine now."

Later she would ask herself why she had created the impression of not having seen Lilly since then. She grimaced at Carlton, who was watching her intently.

Marlowe sighed. "I'll be honest. I feel really guilty about doing that to her. I feel like—no, I _know_ I've abandoned her, and—"

"Marlowe, _no_. I told you before you weren't abandoning her. Remember?"

Carlton frowned. Hmmm, she might have "forgotten" to tell him about that conversation.

"Yes, and you also promised me you'd keep me informed if anything went wrong," she insisted.

"Hold up there. I know what I said, and this does not apply." _Careful... careful..._

He eyed her speculatively. His detective brain was figuring this out, and he was going to quiz the hell out of her later.

"Juliet, I am very worried that I'm doing my daughter irreparable harm. I _need_ to be able to count on you where Lilly's concerned."

"And you can. But before you count on me, count on _Carlton_. He is doing a fantastic job of raising her and whenever I see her—when you saw her _yourself_ —it shows."

Marlowe was silent a moment. "I think I should come back."

 _Hell._

"Marlowe, _why_?"

Carlton got up abruptly, pacing the kitchen restlessly while she listened to Marlowe's self-recriminations.

Finally she had to interrupt. "Listen. You are obviously very stressed about this, and I'm sorry. I can only promise you that from what I see, Lilly is doing well. I think if you come back early out of guilt, you're not really going to help either one of you, or Carlton. As much as you needed to go on this... this _journey_ , you need to see it through. It's your life too, you know."

Marlowe sniffled a little, but seemed to be making an effort to pull herself together. "I just don't know what's right."

"Trust in Carlton's judgment. If he thinks you need to come back, he'll tell you."

Another sigh. "All right. Thank you, Juliet. I'll think it over."

Done.

Juliet set the phone down, covering her face with her hands in the next motion. "Awkward."

"So. She was calling because she thought I _lied_ to her?" Carlton asked coolly.

She shook her head. "I think she was just looking for reassurance."

He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. "And what was that other thing? Something you told her in some conversation I didn't know about?" Then he looked sheepish. "Not that you have to tell me everything. Sorry."

Now she sighed. "Dammit. Marlowe came to see me the night she dropped Lilly off. Right before her trip. She asked me to get in touch with her if I thought you... were having a hard time."

 _That_ part of the conversation she was willing to share. The part where Marlowe basically told her _I know you care for my ex_? Nope.

His eyebrows arched. "She thought I _wouldn't_?"

Yeah, he was annoyed. Reaching over to clasp his hand, Juliet explained, "She told me, flat-out, that she _knew_ you could do this. But she didn't think _you_ believed you could do it, and she was afraid you might not call on her when you should, out of..." She puzzled for the right words. "Out of respect for her, I guess. That you might put yourself in a hard place because you didn't want to make her feel guilty for leaving."

He turned his hand to interlink their fingers again—funny how they seemed to need to touch each other constantly now. "Okay. Guess she knows me well enough. Why didn't you tell me?"

It wasn't a fair question, really, but she understood why he was asking. "Honestly, I thought there was already enough guilt to go around."

He looked wry. "Yeah, you've got me there." He tugged on her hand and she leaned in closer so he could kiss her gently. "I'm sorry you were in the middle. But thanks for looking out for _all_ of us."

"I'm a marvel," she agreed with a little grin, and his next kiss was a bit more intense.

"Did we decide you were staying over?" he inquired, pulling her to her feet and sliding his hands down to cup her derriere.

Juliet purred, nuzzling his throat and already feeling a little heady. "We didn't specifically state that I would be staying over, but I would very much like to stay over."

"I would like that too," he murmured, holding her tighter. "Might I suggest we relocate to a more comfortable location?"

"Upstairs, by any chance?"

He answered her with a kiss.

Took them a while to make it to the staircase. Some articles of clothing may have been lost along the way.

But they were quiet about it—not just because they were kissing—and by the time they landed on his bed behind the closed door, she was pretty sure he knew she was going to stay all night.

And she couldn't help but hope it would turn into forever.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton was loading Lilly into the car Friday morning when his phone buzzed with a text. He finished with the giggly little girl and looked at the screen.

Juliet: _I forgot to tell you I'm meeting Wendy for dinner after work. Can I talk to you when I get home?_

 _Talk_ to him? She could do anything she pleased to him. She certainly had last night.

Willing his libido back under control, he sent back a _hell yeah_ , for which he earned a smiley face.

It had been another fantastical night, and she had managed again to escape the house before Lilly woke. He felt a twinge of concern about how long they'd need to keep that up—how long before she'd tire of it.

He turned the radio on at Lilly's request, and the song was an oldie—REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling."

Damn that band anyway. Every time he heard that song, he thought it was about him, like stinking Kevin Cronin knew he was besotted with Juliet from the moment it happened years ago, like he knew exactly how Carlton felt even today. "I tell myself that I can't hold out forever," he sang, and Lilly sang along with him. "I say there is no reason for my fears..."

She laughed, like he was silly, and he was, but today he didn't care. He _was_ getting closer than he ever thought he might. Juliet _was_ his candle in the window.

At least one window, he amended, smiling at Lilly over his shoulder.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

When Juliet called him about nine, he was lying on the sofa, channel-surfing to see if there was yet another marathon of _Forensic Files_ on.

"Hi," she said breathlessly. "Lilly in bed?"

"Yep. Loaded her up with drugs and she's down for the count."

"Carlton," she laughed. "You'd better hope your line never gets tapped by someone with no sense of humor."

"Pardon me, whoever's listening in. I do not drug my child. However, I admit I do occasionally let her have an extra cookie, because I am not a monster."

"That's better. I'm sure that'll satisfy the courts."

"Let's hope. How was dinner?"

"Noisy. Wendy wanted to go to that new place with a built-in bowling alley. I think I can still hear the pins and my head hurts."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It could be from your recent lack of sleep, too," he said somewhat slyly.

Juliet snickered. "Could be. So… I wanted to ask you something. Something I thought about during the night, and I didn't think there was really time to ask you about it this morning."

"Okay. Do I snore?"

"Uh, do _I_?"

"You purr."

"Ohhh... I see. That sounds better, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Ask your question before I get distracted."

"Oh, right. Yes. Well."

Carlton felt a little niggle of worry. "Juliet?"

She sighed. "I just got to wondering. What would you... that is, how would it affect... us, for you, if Marlowe does come back early?"

He found himself sitting up slowly. "For me? How would it affect us, for _me_?"

"I mean—okay, like I said the other night, we're just getting started. I hope." Juliet hesitated. "But I guess I was counting on... I'm stupid. Sorry."

"No—what? Don't bail on me now, O'Hara."

At his use of her surname, she laughed softly. "Sorry. I was counting on having you to myself. Just you and Lilly, with Marlowe far, far away for months to come. Nothing against Marlowe, but what we're beginning is..." She stopped.

"Private," he supplied. "It's private." He sat up fully, feeling more on target now. "I don't want her coming back just because she feels guilty. And yeah, if she comes back early it might be harder for us to be discreet. But don't forget I only saw her when I picked up and dropped off, and unless she fights me on it, I still have full custody for the rest of the year. She's not going to be in my daily life any more now than she was before she left."

He could hear her even breathing.

"And it's _my_ life, Juliet. My life with _you_ in it, as much as you're willing to be in it. Not Marlowe."

Juliet let out a breath he could only describe as relieved. "So you see I have insecurities."

"I _hear_ that you do. I can't see that you do."

"I might have been afraid to look you in the eye on this one."

"Thought you were fearless, partner," he said gently. "Especially compared to me."

"Um, this is new ground for me. You're not like the other boys, Carlton. I really, really want to do this right."

It registered on him that his pulse was fast. She was saying, in a somewhat veiled way, some pretty remarkable things.

"You really _are_ doing it right." Then he laughed at himself. "Yeah, like _I_ know a damned thing about successful relationships."

"Practice makes perfect," she said more lightly.

It already felt perfect, he thought. "So why are you still three blocks away instead of in my arms?"

She sighed. "Because I'm an idiot. And because I should be home tomorrow when that handsome blue-eyed neighbor of mine comes knocking with his little girl." With a smile he could almost see, she added, "You know, instead of in his bed."

"Ah, I actually see value in _both_ options."

"I'm sure you do," she laughed. "And so do I. But tonight we sleep, I think. We'll wear Lilly out tomorrow and reward ourselves later."

He could work with that.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

She really had such beautiful skin. Carlton lay beside her in bed, head propped up, just watching her as she slept with her back to him.

It was early morning, thirty minutes before the alarm would push them into the day; thinking about that, he reached to turn it off in advance. Some things shouldn't be rushed.

He wanted to touch her, but then, he _always_ wanted to touch her.

Running his hand lightly across her bare skin, he followed the curve of her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. Juliet stirred and moved to lie on her stomach, sighing.

Seemed like an invitation. Carlton stroked her skin again, up and down, gently exploring the warm terrain, gradually letting his hand slide under the sheet where it was gathered at her waist.

She made the purring sound he loved, and turned her head to smile sleepily at him.

Up to her shoulders again, and down to the curve of her hip. Back and down, the gentlest of massages.

When her eyes closed again, he bent to kiss her shoulder, and at the same time moved his hand more definitely under the sheet, caressing her more deliberately until she was sighing again, this time with pleasure he recognized all too well.

Her legs parted, and he kept up his touches, gentle but persistent, until she was moaning softly. He could not resist that sound, ever, and his own arousal grew. He kissed her throat and her upper back, and kept his fingers moving until she crested the waves completely and lay breathing raggedly.

But then—and he didn't mind—she wanted him, and she wanted more, and he gave it to her because everything he had was hers now.

June was coming to a close. The weeks since Marlowe's visit had passed smoothly. When she called that first Sunday, her fears had been allayed by Lilly's simple happiness to talk to her, and she decided that perhaps she would continue her journeys as planned.

Carlton had been relieved. While what he'd told Juliet was true—that he would not allow Marlowe's early return to interfere with the events in his personal life—he was still glad neither one of them had been put to the 'stress test' of having his new ex-wife close by at this point in their fledging relationship.

It wasn't really fledgling, though, he had to admit. It had merely taken on a much deeper hue, where the woman who knew him better than anyone alive had come to care for him on a romantic level. The _foundations_ of their relationship had been in place, and rock solid, for years.

Every day, at one point or another, he wanted to tell Juliet he loved her. It still seemed risky. He couldn't decide whether he was afraid it was too soon, or afraid of her response. While he didn't seriously think—especially lying with her lovely nude body in his arms—she would reject him, he did wonder if she might say she wasn't quite there yet herself.

Or maybe saying "I love you" would just make it too real, burst the bubble, and force them out of their fortress of solitude.

Juliet spent most nights with him now. Usually on Friday nights she would go to her apartment; for the time being they were still keeping this from Lilly, who had so far cooperated by not wandering out of her bedroom during the night and seeing anything she wouldn't be able to understand. And neither he nor Juliet was ready for Lilly to innocently say anything during her phone calls with Marlowe which might lead to questions.

But Juliet was there for dinner many evenings, and Lilly apparently regarded her as a fixture, and slow and steady wins the race, or so he'd been told.

Juliet touched his face, slipping her fingers into his hair. "You are the best alarm clock."

He kissed her wrist. "I'd like to take you out to dinner one night soon. Just the two of us."

Her beautiful blue eyes widened, and she seemed pleased. "I would love that. Who's your backup babysitter?"

Good question. Not Beth; too close to Marlowe. Henry Spencer? Buzz and Francie McNab?

 _Uh... a total stranger?_

Juliet laughed. "I love the expression on your face. You know, I think the daycare has a list of evening babysitters they've vetted."

"Thank God," he said with feeling. "I'll check it out when I drop her off."

She burrowed closer to him, draping one leg over his thigh. "Date night with my man sounds delicious, I must say. You know I loves me some Lilly, but it'll be nice to see you doing your Cary Grant/George Clooney thing just for me."

He felt his cheeks warming. "Stop that."

Still she laughed. "Nope. You're a babe, babe; time you got used to it."

He tugged at her hips, getting her attention with his... attention, and she made that purring sound again. "We do not have time for me to silence you properly, woman."

"Hmmm... too bad. Well, after you drop Lilly off at her party tomorrow, you can come to my place by yourself and just _try_ to silence me."

"Game on," he growled, already enticed. Tomorrow they'd have several hours totally alone, and he fully intended to sully her in her own bed for a change, and if her neighbors happened to be out, oh yes, there _would_ be noise. Juliet had assured him she was up to the challenge, and he had no doubt this was true.

But for now, he paused and listened—a sound in the hallway sounded very much like a four-year-old little girl awake too early.

Juliet promptly leapt out of bed and into the bathroom, leaving Carlton amused—but trying to get his pajama pants on as quickly as possible.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Tomorrow was date night! Juliet was unreasonably happy about the upcoming evening.

The whole week had been fantastic, starting with a luscious and utterly salacious private few hours with Carlton on Saturday afternoon, with absolutely no volume control required. She felt a little jazzed remembering it even now. The man knew how to make her howl with pleasure, and to not have to hold a pillow over her face while her whatzit was being hoodled was refreshing.

During the week she and Buzz closed six cases in two days; then yesterday, the fourth of July, she and Carlton took Lilly out to see the fireworks, which Lilly absolutely loved. They hadn't gotten her to settle down for bed until nearly eleven.

 _They_ , she reflected, smiling at her computer screen.

Carlton had selected a suitable babysitter for Friday night, someone personally recommended by Andie from the daycare. Miss Jackie would be arriving at six, he and Juliet would be leaving at 6:30 for a no doubt delightful meal at a lovely seaside restaurant, and Miss Jackie was not expecting them back until at least ten.

Neither one had said aloud that this date was going to look like a date, meaning anyone who saw them would _know_ they were on a date, and since he was pretty recognizable guy locally... it was essentially their first public outing as A Couple.

And she still hadn't worked up the nerve to tell him she loved him.

But if he was willing to take their act out on the road, so to speak, then maybe she could stop worrying about that. Maybe. Wuss.

Brannigan came over to her in a hurry, calling for Buzz to join them. "We just got a tip in your Everton case. The caller said Everton's holed up at the Madelyn Motel and is willing to talk." She handed Juliet a slip of paper with the room number. "Go!"

They went. They'd been trying to get to the man for weeks to find out what he knew about a string of pharmacy break-ins. They suspected he was just a middleman, and hoped to convince him to cooperate in bringing the bigger guns down.

Backup was coming along as a safety measure, keeping two blocks away while she and Buzz approached the motel room door.

Buzz rapped and then both of them automatically stood to the side. Standard practice, and it paid off this time since the door blew out in a burst of gunfire.

Juliet had time to get behind a pickup parked two spots down and Buzz kept flush to the outside wall. She radioed for the backup to move in.

Everton fired his way out of the room, but he must have never looked out the peephole before he started, because he was definitely not prepared for 6'5" Buzz McNab to loom over him from the side and take him out with one large slap to the head.

It could only have been better if _she'd_ done it.

Well, maybe Everton would be more comfortable talking to them down at the station. Juliet cuffed him herself—almost as good a feeling as the head-walloping would have been.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton paced in Observation. Through the glass he watched Juliet and McNab tag-teaming Everton, trying to get him to roll on his superiors. He was resisting, although clearly weakening, and kept apologizing for trying to blow their heads off.

 _As he should, the rat bastard._

Juliet got up from the table, saying she would bring Everton a Coke, and as soon as the door closed between her and Interrogation, Carlton yanked her into his arms.

She oofed, but didn't seem displeased. "Carlton! Wow." Glancing at the open door into the hall, she stepped back a little. "What was that for?"

 _For you nearly dying in the line of duty_ , he almost said. "Just... glad to see you?"

"Hmmm. That's not your usual workplace greeting." Little tiny edge to her voice. Tiny. Miniscule. But he heard it. "I'm fine, you know."

"I see that, but I... well," he admitted, "I needed to _see_ it."

She went to the hall door and pulled it shut. "Are you freaking out on me because I did my job?" Her tone was half-casual, half-teasing, but he still heard the edge.

Carlton shook his head.

"You sure? Because I do my job every day. Granted, we don't usually have a lot of gunfire in a typical day, but I _am_ trained _and_ experienced, and you can't go soft on me every time things get a little tense out there."

The edge was pretty damned plain that time.

"Okay. Okay." He drew in a deep breath and composed himself. "You think I'm overreacting because of us being... an us."

One of her eyebrows quirked. "Are you?"

 _Oh, just tell her._

"Truthfully, this is how I felt _every_ time you were in danger when we were partners."

Juliet went still.

"It was always worse when I wasn't with you, but it was still damned hard when I was."

She wasn't annoyed anymore, but she was still just looking at him, perhaps a bit pink.

"So I'm not overreacting any more than I _ever_ did," he finished. "I just never let you see it before."

Juliet smiled—just slightly—and her cheeks were definitely pink. "Okay," she whispered, and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him quickly and stepping away just as quickly. "That's all right then."

Sometimes the truth was his friend after all.

"But go away now, Chief. I'm working here."

He went away.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

She was halfway home, pleased with her day, pleased with Carlton's admission, and anticipating dinner with him and Lilly. Sometimes she cooked, which she loved, and it was equal parts frustrating and satisfying coming up with meals Lilly would eat in entirety. Or partiality. Tough crowd, four-year-olds. At least she liked broccoli.

The green SUV roared through the intersection as she moved the Mazda forward, and when the squeal of brakes and the cacophony of car-horns stopped, her car was facing the other way at an angle, and the SUV was on its side.

Nobody was hurt.

The SUV driver was fine but his insurance company wasn't going to be too pleased with him.

The Mazda was fine.

She was fine.

She texted Carlton, saying only that she'd be a little late. She did not shout at the SUV driver. She did not punch him in the gut for scaring the crap out of her.

The patrolman who took their statements knew who she was and expedited everything, and she was able to leave before the tow truck came to drag the SUV away.

And four blocks from there, she was fighting back tears.

Normally she went home and changed, then walked down to Carlton's house. Tonight she drove straight there and parked next to his Fusion, but when she stood on the back step she couldn't even remember how to unlock his door, so she knocked.

He opened it. "Hey, did you lose your—my God, what's wrong?"

She was already in his arms, crying and shaking, and he got the door closed, shushing her and holding her tight.

The kitchen was bright and smelled of dinner: onion, chicken, tomato sauce? From the living room she heard the faint sounds of the television, and she hoped Lilly didn't come in here straight away.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, holding her close. "What's _wrong_?"

"Oh, Carlton," she managed through her tears, "I love you. I just love you so much. I've been waiting so long to tell you how I feel and now—now I—" She broke down again, sobbing into his shirt, tightening her grip around his warm strength.

And he said anxiously, wonderingly, "Juliet, sweetheart, I love you too but why are you crying? What happened?"

She looked up, mistily, into his crystal blue eyes. "You do? You love me?"

Carlton smiled at her. "Only since forever. Come here." He drew her to the table, already set for the meal, and pulled her chair close to his.

Patting her cheeks, she drew in a few unsteady breaths while he stroked her arms and waited for her to calm down.

"I didn't think much about what happened today with Everton. A little adrenalin rush but we got the guy, right? And then when I thought you were maybe trying to bubble-wrap me, I wanted to be annoyed."

"Oh, you _were_ annoyed," he agreed. "I don't blame you."

A hiccup of laughter. "Well I don't blame you either, especially after you said you'd _always_ been wussy about me."

He grinned. "Owned."

Her cheeks were so hot. She hated crying. "I was just nearly taken out by a bad driver." Carlton tensed, and she went on quickly, "I'm fine. So's the car. He never made contact. His SUV, meh, who cares. Asshat."

That made him relax a bit.

Juliet took hold of his hands and squeezed them hard. "A few blocks from here it suddenly hit me that I could have died. I had no issue with Everton nearly killing me, but when I got through a potential collision unscathed, all I could think was that I'd been too afraid to tell you I loved you."

She could feel his grip on her hands outpacing hers, and the next breath she let out was huge, cleansing one. Carlton's half-smile was all she needed to lean forward and kiss him, hard, searchingly—and he kissed her back with equal fervor.

"Juliet," he said breathlessly when they parted. "I love you too. I love you more. No one could possibly love another person as much as I love you."

Sighing, she kissed him again and let him wipe the tears from her face. "That's a little arrogant."

He nodded. "Yes. I have flaws."

"I also take it as a challenge."

Carlton smirked. "You're feeling better."

"That's because I'm with you," she said simply. "Everything's better when I'm with you."

It wasn't only _her_ eyes which seemed misty now.

"I was going to tell you tomorrow night at dinner," he said. "Maybe after, on the boardwalk."

Juliet laughed. "I was hoping I'd tell _you_ tomorrow night at dinner."

Carlton stood up and pulled her into his arms, holding her with a fierce tightness which exhilarated her, because he _loved_ her, he _did_ , and nothing else mattered.

"So what the hell are we supposed to talk about _now_?" he asked with mock irritation.

Juliet was laughing when Lilly came in, and welcomed her— _and_ Mrs. Purpleface—into the hug.

She had never felt happier in her life. She had never felt more _at home_.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 _(A/N: one more chapter, and by God it'll be up tomorrow night!)_


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Her phone buzzed. _Come to my office, please_.

She found him at his desk, sitting back but clearly not relaxed. His tell-all eyes gave his agitation away.

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't you 'sir' me."

Juliet laughed. "I'll remember you said that. What's up?"

"It's time," Carlton said, and she _nearly_ believed his firmness was legit.

"Time for what?" She wanted him to say it out loud.

He scowled. "Time to out ourselves to Brannigan."

Juliet tried to hide her amusement—but he spotted it and amped up the scowl. "Oh, Carlton, relax."

"That is absolutely _not_ how I operate, O'Hara."

She laughed openly now. "You can do anything you set your mind to, _Chief_."

Another scowl. "How can you be so calm about this? We're talking about at least a _case_ of worms here."

" _She_ works for _you_. She's not your supervisor or the Mayor and this will be _fine_. Now call her in. I'll soften her up."

With extreme reluctance, Carlton picked up his desk phone and summoned Betsy Brannigan. "Soften her up," he muttered. "What, did you bring your own sparkles?"

" _Excuse_ me. I sparkle _naturally_ ," she said primly, and despite his annoyance, Carlton chuckled.

Brannigan strode in, hair flying. "Sir?"

He gestured for her to sit next to Juliet, but when he hesitated, Juliet jumped in. "Before the Chief starts, I wanted to bring something up." She ignored his immediately raised eyebrows, and addressed Brannigan directly. "When I first pitched the idea of coming back to the SBPD, he was concerned about whether or not I'd end up regretting the decision. Of course you know I don't."

Brannigan beamed. "I did have the impression you were happy here."

Juliet nodded. "I am _very_ happy. But the deal we made, if I can call it that, was that when I'd been here ten months, we three would meet to discuss whether it's working for _all_ of us."

"Oh. Why ten months?" Brannigan asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, Juliet could see Carlton smiling. "It would allow me time to look for another job before my apartment lease is up. In case we weren't all satisfied with my performance, that is."

Now Brannigan looked horrified. "I certainly do not want you looking for another job! Wait. Has it really been ten months?"

"In a few weeks." It was nearly the end of August now, but she figured this conversation would be a good lead-in to the part Carlton was dreading.

"Well," she said with consternation, "I can't speak for Chief Lassiter, but I have found you to be an excellent detective and efficient worker. I hope you will renew that lease promptly and stay on with our crew."

"Thank you." Juliet turned to Carlton now, reading his expression as being a lot more amused than he was willing to admit. "Chief?"

He inquired smoothly, "Aren't I already outnumbered?"

Juliet grinned but Brannigan seemed to think he was serious, and started to protest.

He waved her off. "I'm kidding. Yes, I cast my vote for Detective O'Hara to stay on for the foreseeable future. However…"

They both went still.

Carlton cleared his throat. "However, I don't think you should renew that lease."

Her heart thumped, and she was unable to say anything.

He continued briskly, "But if we're in agreement about O'Hara's continued employment here, that brings us to the reason I called _you_ in, Brannigan."

"Yes, sir?"

"Just to have it on record for everyone's understanding: in your position, you are responsible for writing the performance reviews for the detectives in the squad, which you then present to me for my edification and input."

"Yes, sir?"

 _Damn, she was perky._

"You're also responsible for setting their work schedules and making case assignments, although I also assign cases as needed. Or as demanded by the Mayor," he amended dryly.

She started to say "yes sir" again but he gave her a look and she subsided.

"As regards Detective O'Hara specifically, this is your notice that I will not participate in her performance reviews, her scheduling or her case assignments. I'll document this later today and we'll all sign off on it, and I'll also ask you to write up a statement that at no time in the past nine months have I exerted any influence over you about O'Hara's work here."

Brannigan was visibly perplexed.

Juliet thought he was doing fine. He glanced at her, and she tried to appear neutral.

"That is, unless you feel I _have_ attempted to exert influence over you, or anyone has suggested in any way that O'Hara's gotten special or preferential treatment."

"No, no, absolutely not!"

Carlton prodded, "Would you have challenged me if I'd seemed to be giving her preferential treatment?"

She thought it over a moment. "Well, I hope so. Not in a rude or combative way, of course. I might have opened the discussion, if it were necessary, which of course it hasn't been, with perhaps a mention of a military weapons article or maybe some ammunition stats, but—"

"Brannigan," he interrupted gently.

She stopped. "Yes, Chief?"

Juliet was finding it hard not to giggle.

"Any questions so far?"

"Oh... no. I assume you're about to tell me why you want this non-involvement documented."

"Yes I am." With a warning glance to Juliet, probably because he knew she was stifling laughter, he continued. "Detective O'Hara and I are... personally involved."

After a pause, and a blank look, Brannigan said, "Um... how so?"

Carlton's turn to blink, followed by a longer pause. " _Personally_."

When her expression didn't change, Juliet leaned over and said quietly, "Romantically."

Her man actually went pink, God love him. Brannigan's eyebrows were fully up. "Ohhhh."

Carlton seemed to have been struck mute.

But Brannigan frowned again. " _Really_? How did I miss that?"

"It seemed wise to keep a low profile," Juliet explained, wondering why she _had_ to explain it.

"But I'm usually very good at picking up things being kept at a low profile." She seemed a little agitated. "I'm not comfortable with this at all."

 _Uh-oh._

"With our involvement?"

"No, that I didn't see it for myself! Juliet, I pride myself on seeing things that others miss. This is actually a bit of a blow to my professional ego."

Across the desk, Carlton's hand went to his forehead, and Juliet detected the tiniest of sighs.

"Betsy, please don't take it to heart. We've been really really discreet, and you have to admit, you're a very busy woman."

"That's true," she admitted.

Carlton said, "In addition, your skill is strongest in spotting when something's _wrong_."

He didn't have to add _but this is something right_.

Juliet sent him a small smile, which he returned. His blush had receded, but she would still tease him about it later.

Brannigan was mollified. "Again, you're correct. Thank you, sir. I do feel better. And congratulations, by the way. I mean, if it's appropriate to say that."

"It's fine," Juliet assured her.

"And will you continue keeping a low profile?"

"To the best of our ability, until it becomes evident."

"How will it become evident, sir, if you continue to keep this low profile?"

Carlton looked at Juliet, smiling. "Well, I expect word will get out when we apply for the marriage license."

Brannigan's eyes grew wide. "Oh!"

"It won't be until next year," Juliet intervened. "But you see his point. We'll continue to keep our personal life out of the workplace as much as possible."

"You've certainly done a good job so far!" She stood up, but hesitated next to her chair. "I'll write up that statement ASAP, Chief. If it's not too invasive a question, when did this, er, personal involvement begin?"

Juliet knew she was really asking if the _personal_ predated her return. In one sense, by just the strength of their friendship, the answer was yes. But in the specific sense...

"Several months ago," Carlton answered evenly, and she was amazed he was saying it to Brannigan. "We became closer in the time following my divorce."

"I see. Understandable, of course." She nodded, as if in agreement with herself. "Is there anything else? I need to talk to Woody about the county chicken population."

Carlton opened his mouth, then closed it, finally gesturing she was free to go.

Juliet stood up too, and he said, "Wait one minute, Detective."

"I shouldn't be alone with you, Chief," she said innocently. "Appearance of impropriety."

"It's only impropriety if I yank you into my lap," he retorted.

"Tempting as that sounds,"—and it did—"what can I do for you?"

"Oh, you _already_ do that." He looked smug.

"Stop smirking," she said, despite her own laughter. "Hey. You want to spell out why you don't think I should renew my lease?"

They'd agreed not to marry until "a decent interval" passed after Marlowe's return. And Juliet hoped she knew what he was going to say.

Carlton stood up and went to the window, tilting his head to invite her closer. She joined him, at a relatively circumspect distance.

"You're at your apartment maybe two nights a week. You've been having breakfast with us for the past month and you've helped get Lilly ready for her day often enough that she's completely used to you being there."

The only rule they were sticking to was avoiding having Lilly find Juliet sleeping in Daddy's bed, because they still weren't ready for her to make any comments about that to Marlowe.

Juliet nodded.

Carlton glanced out his office door and then reached over to clasp her hand. "Move in officially. Move in now and we can take time getting your stuff over to my— _our_ house." He smiled diffidently. "It _is_ our house now."

She squeezed his fingers, her own smile tremulous. Why did this seem scarier than telling him she loved him? Why was it scarier than when he first mentioned marriage and she couldn't talk for several minutes because her heart was about to burst?

Because this was commitment _now_ , _before_ Marlowe's return. Before it was safe and circumspect.

"You should say something," he prompted her. "Even if it's no. If you want to sign a six-month lease, I understand. I was going to bring this up at home but you surprised me with Brannigan just now."

"I say yes. I say yes to everything." She finished with a whisper: "My darling."

His eyes, so blue, were alight with happiness, and she wished she could fling her arms around him.

"Do you remember the day I made Chief? Our conversation right here in this office?"

She certainly did. Hearing his sincere, impassioned words about what she meant to him, and how he would rather give up the chance to be Chief than do it without her. She had felt such powerful emotion, such _connection_ with him.

"I told you everything was going to be fine," she said quietly.

He was just as quiet. "I didn't see how anything could ever be fine if you were leaving."

Her heart twinged. "But you didn't love me then. Not like you do now."

"I did, Juliet. It was muted, maybe. Shelved. I was going to make it work with Marlowe because I didn't know I couldn't produce miracles. But I'd loved you for years." His smoky voice was low, giving her goosebumps.

She swallowed. "And if I'd stayed, if I'd let you give up your dream, where would we be?"

Carlton looked wry. "Not standing here today. Something else I have to thank you for."

Brushing an unexpected tear off her face, she asked, "What made you think of this now?"

"I guess because we've come full circle in a way. That day, we were headed in completely different directions. Today, you are so much a part of me, so..." He smiled. "So all up in my life. You and Lilly at home make this job—which is definitely _not_ my dream job—so much better."

"We know." She said it teasingly, but damn if her eyes weren't misty again.

He grinned. "Yeah you do." He squeezed her hand one last time. "Better get out before someone catches me behaving inappropriately toward a subordinate."

Juliet made a show of looking around. "Uh, I don't see any subordinates in here, and I _know_ you don't mean me."

Carlton shooed her away, highly amused.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

One warm mid-September day after Lilly's Sunday phone call with Marlowe, Juliet took her outside to let her run off some steam, and Carlton sat on the sofa and pressed redial with some trepidation.

"Carlton?" she said with surprise. "Is everything all right?" She was somewhere in central Georgia, and leaving soon for Savannah.

"Everything's fine. I just needed to talk to you for a minute."

"About Lilly?"

"No. About me." Pause. "And Juliet."

Marlowe was quiet a moment, and then chuckled. "It's happened, hasn't it? You finally found your way together."

He took a breath. "Marlowe—"

"I know, Carlton. I know nothing ever went on, at least on the surface."

He wasn't about to argue the distinction there.

"And judging by how often Lilly mentions Juliet, it was obvious things were changing."

"Yes. Well."

She laughed lightly again. "It's okay. Lilly's clearly happy, and I trust you both to put her first."

"We do."

"Then it's all good, Carlton. I'm happy for the time we had, and I'm happy for you now. Please tell Juliet."

"I will. Thank you." He hesitated. "How are you? You're over halfway through your grand journey. Has it been what you wanted?"

"Yes. Yes it has. I've got thousands of photos and memories and ideas and inspirations—and still nearly half a country to see."

Carlton smiled. She sounded content, and this contented him. "I wish you the best always, you know."

"Thank you. I wish the same for you."

He was still musing on the sofa, feet up, when Juliet and Lilly came back in.

Lilly climbed up on him immediately, talking excitedly about a big bug she'd spotted in the yard. Juliet sat at the other end of the sofa, putting his feet in her lap and shaking her head at Lilly's over-the-top descriptions.

"And it had wings and it was green and its legs were blue and it could fly!"

"Where did it fly?"

"I don't know! Probly to the moon!"

"Juliet? Any comment?"

"I cannot tell a lie," she said with a straight face. "I do believe it flew to the moon."

"Would you like to go to the moon to find the bug, Lilly-cat?"

"Yes!" And with that she scrambled off of him and ran out of the room; they could hear her thumping her way up the stairs.

"Is that where we keep the moon?" Juliet asked, changing positions so smoothly that before he knew it, she was lying next to him and somehow his arms were around her. That happened a lot.

"Hell, I don't know where anything is since you started moving in."

Juliet thwopped his chest lightly. "Hey! You know it's a work in progress." Then she made up for the thwopping by kissing him.

He appreciated that, and kissed her back. But before she could reciprocate, he withdrew enough to say, "I told Marlowe about us."

Juliet went still, her eyes wide. "How did it go?"

Carlton considered. "She didn't seem very surprised, and asked me to send you her regards."

Her smile was cautious. "I accept them, with gratitude."

"You want me to call Victoria now and see what she says?"

"I do not, and if you're not nicer to me, I'm going to find Lilly's bug and hide it in your shoes."

"That seems fair."

"I thought so." She looked at him solemnly for a moment. "I don't think I've told you for a few hours, but I love you, Carlton."

"Then please," he said, pulling her closer and kissing her, "please," and he kissed her again, making her purr, "and I do mean please," with one more kiss before he heard Lilly coming back down the stairs, "please do not put a bug in my shoe."

Juliet laughed, but refused to promise.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

By her birthday in October, she was fully moved in. Lilly had weathered the concept of Juliet sleeping in Carlton's room well enough, because now Juliet was as much a part of her life as her father was.

The Mazda had its own carseat. Juliet could buckle Lilly in like a pro.

And on her birthday, on a night when Miss Jackie was once again babysitting while they dined out, Carlton gave her a ring and said, "Let's set a date. I love you, and I don't think we should have to worry about anyone else's convenience. We've earned our life, Juliet."

She tried not to cry and did pretty well, until he came to her side of the table and knelt with the ring, and a burst of applause from surrounding tables made her lose it and bury her face in his shoulder.

Carlton kissed her blushing face—to another round of applause—and said, "Would you say yes already so they get some closure?"

Juliet laughed through her tears and gave him his yes, and laughed again when he muttered, "Half the people here were recording that. We just went public in a big way, O'Hara."

"Oh, my God," she managed, fanning herself. "You deserve every phone call you get from a reporter tomorrow. Making me cry in front of all these strangers."

Yet he was unfazed, judging by the pleased light in his blue eyes. "So what date?"

"You choose. I'm verklempt." The sparkling and oh-so-delicate diamond in the ring was making her teary too, because it was lovely and yet not too fancy or fragile for work. He'd chosen perfectly.

"February 22."

"You want to get married on Washington's birthday?"

"It's my birthday too, and a Friday."

"What are you talking about? Your birthday's in April!"

Carlton grinned. "My grandmother used to get me mixed up with one of my cousins. Argued with my mom about it every year. For awhile _I_ wasn't even sure which day was legit."

She still stared at him. "How do you know, in October, that next February 22 is a Friday?"

"Because I'm unlike any other man you've ever known?"

"Not untrue, but not really an answer either."

"I checked out possible dates before dinner," he admitted. "Got a little ahead of myself."

Juliet felt more than a little giddy now. "Why don't you take me home and make love to me?"

"Can we pay for dinner first?"

She granted him permission.

There was another little burst of applause when they got up from the table, and at least one man said "Congratulations, Chief," as they were walking out.

Carlton thanked him, but when they were nearly to the car and he started to grouse a little about the recognition, Juliet cut him off with, "You have only yourself to blame. And just as a reminder, you also get to marry me."

He caught her wrist and pulled her close. "Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Karen Vick, Shawn and Gus, Henry—they all attended the small wedding in February. Lilly was there too, glorious in her pink dress, and ready to spend the weekend with her mother, who was back from her travels and living with her friend Beth again.

Karen took Juliet aside and said, "Not to say I told you so, but I told you so."

Juliet beamed. "Did I tell you to suck it then or did I only think it?"

Laughing, Karen said she'd _implied_ 'suck it,' but then she hugged her hard and said, "I'd tell you to be happy, but I think you've already got that down."

"I think we both do," Juliet sighed, looking across at her gorgeous lean blue-eyed husband. "I kind of think we always will."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Henry clapped Carlton on the back. "Didn't I call this? It's okay, you can admit it."

Carlton frowned at him. "What are you talking about?" He knew, though.

And Henry knew he knew. "Her one and only. I told you last year when you stole my milk."

"Excuse me, but I believe you vacated your right to the milk when you found out it was for my starving, invalid daughter."

Henry stared at him. "Oh my God, you're making jokes instead of threatening to arrest me. This is more serious than I thought."

Carlton held up his glass of champagne. "Suck it. I'm a happy man and you're just going to have to get used to it."

"Will you let Lilly have a pet squirrel?"

"I said I'm happy, Spencer, not delusional."

He was relieved. "Good. You had me scared there for a minute."

Juliet approached, radiant in her silvery blue dress, her eyes fixed on Carlton in that way which always made him weak in the... everything. "Dance with me?"

He thrust his glass at Henry without a second thought, and took his wife in his arms.

"I love you, my darling," she whispered, lifting her head for a kiss.

"I love you too, my dear," he whispered back, and gave her that kiss.

Along with everything else in his heart and soul.

And that's where the story begins.

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 _(A/N: special cyber-cookies to iknowuknow for being my most faithful commenter throughout. I feel I could have rambled this story out forever, but the movie's on tonight and I seem to have lost most of my readers along the way here, so this is a good place to end. For those of you who stuck it out,_ _ **thanks**_ _, and keep the Lassiet dream alive.)_


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